Seeing the Sights
by Icon
Summary: Despite all they have seen, all they have faced, are Batman and Robin ready when a REAL nightmare comes to Gotham. Someday I will finish this.
1. Prologue

Seeing the Sights  
  
A Batman/Vertigo fanfic by Brian Doyle  
  
If Vertigo type themes disturb you, avoid this story.  
  
I don't own any of the main characters of this story, but I promise to put them back when I've finished with them, possibly a little traumatised, but not really harmed, so please don't sue.  
  
This story is set about seven years ago, DCU time...  
  
Prologue  
- - - -  
  
The Sleepover Motel, between Bludhaven and Gotham  
  
The man took a swig from his bottle of imported beer, wiped his knife clean on the pillow and lay back more comfortably on the bed.   
  
At length he addressed the figure lying next to him in a conversational tone.  
  
"Did you know there's actually a world out there where they actually _worship_ eyes? No of course you didn't know that Nicky, but I thought I'd share it with you. I've never been there myself, but I used to work for a guy who'd been there and he told me about it. Ekron it's called, sounds like it should be in Ohio, but it's not, it somewhere out past the Pleiades. He told me they worship a Sapphire Eye and a Ruby Eye and they whisper about an Emerald Eye that's been missing for thousands of years. Some say it's gone walkabout... which is a strange mental image isn't it?"  
  
He finished what he was eating and looked over again "But I'm boring you aren't I Nicky? Sorry, I do tend to go on sometimes, but you're such a good listener."  
  
The beds other occupant remained motionless, his wrists and ankles still tied to the bedposts, but it wouldn't have made much difference if they weren't.   
  
"Now, now! Let's be big about this. No tears. I won't have that."   
  
It might have been tears that ran down the motionless figure's face, but only if tears were crimson.  
  
"I really do think it's time to go our separate ways. Don't get me wrong Nicky, it was fun and you've shown me all sorts of things but to be totally honest, and honesty is important in any relationship, it's nothing I haven't seen a hundred times before. A shame really, I'd hoped you might be different. Besides, look at you, you hog the bed!"  
  
With a chuckle and a farewell wave, the man turned away from the body. He paused only to check himself in the mirror and put on his sunglasses. As he checked his hair, someone of the right age might have appreciated his quick impersonation of Arthur "The Fonz" Fonzarelli from the opening titles of Happy Days, but no one was watching him, he'd made sure of that himself. He stepped out of the motel room, stretched and breathed in the night air around him.  
  
"Gotham." he said aloud, as if reaching a decision, "I haven't been there in years. They think they know the terrors of the night because of the lunatics in that asylum? I think it's about time I reminded them what a _real_ nightmare is like."  
  
Whistling cheerily, yet quietly so as not to wake those in neighbouring rooms, the Corinthian walked over to his car. Not a soul saw him drive away.  
  



	2. Chapter 1

Seeing the Sights  
A Batman/Vertigo fanfic by Brian Doyle  
  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Night, Gotham Police HQ  
  
Commisioner James Gordon sighed and stared around his office, anything to prevent himself having to look at the crime scene photos.   
  
He used a trick he'd learned years ago to while away the watchful hours of the night; trying to find patterns in random patterns of light and dark around the room. It was an urban version of watching clouds he supposed; that patch of light, for example, looked a bit like a wooden horse he'd had when he was a boy; those spots of light cast by the shadow of the Venetian blinds looked like a string of beads his wife had been fond of wearing; that patch of streetlight on the wall over by the window could almost be the outline of a familiar stylised bat.  
  
He shook himself out of his reverie as the pattern of the patch moved by itself, a human shape seeming to materialise around it from the shadows.  
  
"Good grief man! How long have you been standing there?"  
  
"Not long" replied the Batman "You seemed to be deep in thought, I didn't want to disturb you. What can you tell me?" he gestured towards the file on the desk.  
  
"His name was Nicholas James Evans, known on the streets as Nicky. He was 15 years old. Small time hustler and prostitute with a minor rap sheet. A runaway who just kept on running away, ended up in Bludhaven of all places, poor kid. The usual busts for possession and vice. Social services files an inch thick, but not a big player by any means."  
  
"I take it Bludhaven PD aren't bothering themselves to investigate?"  
  
"The boy worked out of Bludhaven, but he was from Gotham originally and the Motel is slightly closer to us than to Bludhaven, so they kindly decided to flimflam us and dump it onto our caseload. They at least sent his file through."  
  
"Well, at least that improves the chances of the case being solved by at least a factor of five."  
  
Gordon smiled mirthlessly, then looked down at the desk again and his face became stony again. "True. If ever a town needed a Batman more than Gotham City, Bludhaven would top my list."  
  
"Mine too, but I have too much to do here to worry about other cities. Such situations often breed their own heroes, one will come along eventually."  
  
"I hope you're right. But we have matters of our own to deal with."  
  
"I know, I saw"  
  
"No you didn't, the body wasn't found until 10.30am and that's way after your bedtime. You didn't see what I had to see."  
  
"I was there tonight, checking things over."  
  
"Once the body as gone it's always easier."  
  
"I checked the body too, down in the morgue. Believe me, it's not easier."  
  
Gordon sighed heavily, "You treat this place like we just lease it from you sometimes."   
  
(One part of Batman's mind automatically registered that technically the GCPD did exactly that. Wayne Enterprises owned the freehold on the building and let them have it for a peppercorn rent. He didn't even view his habit of making such odd, seemingly trivial connections as strange, you could never tell when it might form the basis of a useful link in a case.)  
  
"The post mortem confirms death followed blood loss from drastic ocular trauma."  
  
"'Confirms'? What was there to confirm? The damn kid had his eyes cut out with something like a hunting knife, then the sick.... " Gordon groped for a word obscene enough and gave up "...whoever did this, half-ate the eyes. Chewed them up and then left the remains behind like on the bedside table as if they were nothing more than peanut shells, whilst the boy is bleeding to death in front of him. And to top it all off, somehow, somehow he managed to do this without leaving a single piece of physical evidence. No hairs, no prints, nothing."  
  
"Dental records for the teethmarks on the eyes? Saliva?"  
  
Gordon shuddered, "How can you say that so matter of factly?"  
  
"The same way you can look at those pictures, we need to find whoever did this. I'll stress out later, in my own time. The teeth marks are a clue that needs looking at."  
  
"The dental work is being sent up to Quantico for analysis."  
  
"The post mortem also confirmed that there was evidence of recent sexual activity, but it's unlikely that whoever did this was his first customer of the night, or that they didn't use protection, so that's a slim chance of being any use. We're not even sure there was sex involved in this case."  
  
"Rape, not sex. The boy was a minor."  
  
Gordon threw the photos on the desk in front of him. Each showed, from a different angle, the body of Nicky Evans. Curly reddish hair hung around his face, but any attempt to read an emotion from his face was made impossible by the fact that where his eyes should be were two bloody holes. Even the remove granted by the fact it was a photograph couldn't prevent the reflexive wave of nausea both men felt.  
  
Gordon took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose "Dear God, you think I'd be used to this sort of thing wouldn't you. In this town death by serial killing is practically listed as 'natural causes' by the coroner."  
  
"I hope we're never that inured to death Jim. And there was nothing natural about this."   
  
The shadowed figure paused for a moment before continuing.  
  
"I checked, and his pimp had no quarrel with him."  
  
"We haven't even been able to find out who his current pimp was!"  
  
"Try the Emergency Room at Bludhaven General... Goes by the name of Sammy Wilkins. I took a little trip over there this evening. He thought I was who ever it was that killed Nicky coming to do the same to him. I decided not to disabuse him of that notion for a while and he kept falling over running away from me."  
  
Gordon didn't ask any more, the rule of law was one thing, but he had a feeling Batman had possibly done the Bludhaven Vice Squad more of a favour than they would ever know, or deserve.  
  
Batman picked up the photograph and looked at it, his face perhaps more determinedly stony than usual, though only someone like James Gordon would have noticed the difference.  
  
Gordon spoke up again, speaking quietly "He's younger than my Barbara, and I guess about the same age as...."  
  
"About." The voice was firm, agreeing, but brooking no questions.  
  
"One request. Keep the boy out of this."  
  
Batman didn't turn but nodded once "I was already planning on sidelining him on this. Some things he's not ready to see this close. Deep down, I'm not sure I am."  
  
"Any ideas as to a perp?"  
  
"Yes. I think you already know what the most likely one is."  
  
Gordon nodded resignedly, "I keep up with the FBI profiling reports. I was hoping that you might be able to disabuse me of the notion."  
  
"No such luck, Jim."  
  
"God forgive me for saying this, but in some ways I almost wish it were one of the loonies at Arkham, those we can predict, this is a new player."  
  
"Is he?"  
  
By the time Gordon turned to ask him what his friend might have meant, he was alone in his office and the two words he whispered went unheard  
  
"The Corinthian"  
  



	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
The Batcave - Later that night  
  
The computer in the Batcave was one of the most powerful on the face of the earth. It's vast processing power was further boosted by the fact it was linked surreptitiously, and illegally, to the databases of every major police force and investigative authority on the face of the Earth, and a few organisations that were so Black Ops that most Black Ops teams didn't suspect they even existed.  
  
In reality most of the computer was housed in a specially modified cavern on the level below, climate controlled and with triple redundancy back up generators, but the main console was imposing enough. Larger than it really needed to be, but with scope for expansion in the future.  
  
Sitting in front of the main keyboard Batman ensured all these links were in place, before starting to program in the search parameters he was interested in. He could theoretically have accessed this information from the car, but he was always more comfortable when the computer was in front of him.  
  
Though he was more than half convinced as to the identity of the killer, Batman was meticulous about his search, inputting the name of his suspect would skew the results, and there remained the slight possibility that there was a suspect that he had never heard of. He wasn't arrogant enough to assume he knew everything.  
  
The search parameters were depressingly simple and grotesque "serial killer, juvenile male, ocular trauma, eyeball eating".  
  
Not as depressing, however, as the number of hits that came back. Batman muttered an oath under his breath. There must be dozens listed, more than he had imagined. Then the thought struck him, he hadn't specified a date parameter, so he might be looking at a longer history than he would have otherwise expected.   
  
He started scrolled through the details on the screen, growing more and more appalled as he read on.  
  
"So, what's going on Bruce?" Dick Grayson was coming down the flight of steps into the cave, still rubbing his eyes having caught an hour or so of sleep after coming home from school and finishing his homework (There was no way Alfred would have allowed the boy into the cave until he had checked every assignment to his own satisfaction). He was wearing his Robin costume, though he hadn't put his mask or cape on yet and was just checking the utility belt. He went across to the weapons supply unit, and began filling assorted pouches.  
  
The figure in front of the computer just looked at him.  
  
Dick realised his mistake and rolled his eyes "Sorry, I mean 'What's going on 'Batman''". He'd broken one of the cardinal rules of the Batcave; Cowl down, it was "Bruce", cowl up it was "Batman", and never the twain shall meet.  
  
Batman briefly thought about clearing the screen before Dick could see it, but decided not to. He'd tried blocking Dick completely out of investigations before and all that usually happened was that he got involved anyway, whether by accident or design. And, unorthodox childhood or no, he was still a typical teenager in many ways, forbid him to do something and it just becomes more of a challenge. It was probably unavoidable in this case, but he had to try the straightforward approach first.  
  
"There's been a murder."  
  
"In Gotham? That's hardly a major surprise."  
  
"It is when the murder is like this. It was a singularly vicious one. A young boy was tortured and murdered."  
  
Dick looked suitably disturbed, "Geez..The Joker?"  
  
Batman shook his head "No, most of our usual rogues are in Arkham or Blackgate, I checked personally, and this isn't their style, any of them."  
  
"So, any suspects then?"  
  
"There has been a series of murders like this all across the country. I've been collating the data."  
  
"So our guy gets around a lot."  
  
"Yes, indeed he does. Unfortunately the murders in question also took place over the past eighty years or so."  
  
"What? You mean it's like a family business?"  
  
"Unlikely in the case of a serial killer. They usually aren't able to form close emotional bonds with family members, it's beyond their understanding."  
  
Looking at his mentor, Dick seemed to be about to say something, but then changed his mind. He busied himself putting on his cape and mask, becoming Robin rather than simply Dick Grayson.  
  
The mask was one of the new ones he'd asked Bruce to make. He'd been happy enough with his old style mask, basically a bandanna with eye-holes, but following a recent incident with an assault victim - who had, in a panic, sprayed mace in his eyes when he'd gone to check on her after decking the attacker - he'd decided he wanted a bit more protection. Bruce said nothing of course, but Dick knew he'd always found the old mask wasn't entirely practical, and probably had his doubts about other aspects of the Robin costume, though that was his problem, not Dick's. The new mask was the end result, a domino mask with fitted lenses that was secured with something like spirit gum, except it didn't irritate the skin the way he knew spirit gum could. (It had always been fun hanging around the clown tent back at the circus, they tended to let rip with a few of their more creative curses when they took their fake hairpieces off after a show… This was back in the days when he'd still found clowns funny of course).   
  
At the suggestion of Alfred (ever the former actor and disguise expert) Bruce had even taken the opportunity to add contours to the mask so as to subtly alter the appearance of Dick's nose and eyebrows, a small but useful contribution to help keep his identity a secret.   
  
"No, this isn't a supervillain in the usual sense. This is a singularly bad example of the sort of killer that is out there more and more these days. Not flamboyant, or an egomaniac in the normal sense. The people he kills are people that no one cares about much and we don't know why he does it."  
  
Batman indicated the data on the screen in front of him and Robin started to read over his shoulder.  
  
"He eats their EYES!" Robin felt suddenly nauseous. He'd met many varieties of monster in his short career as a crimefighter, from the mindless violence of Blockbuster to the twisted genius of the Joker, but this was in a whole obscene league of it's own.  
  
Batman didn't answer, the evidence was on the screen in front of him, Robin didn't need him to confirm the obvious, at least that's what he told himself. It was nothing to do with the discomfort he felt discussing this with the boy.  
  
"Back in the Forties, there was a murderer that the Presse dubbed 'The Dark Angel', then in the rather more literal Sixties came someone they called 'The Eyeball Eater'. There have also been references throughout to a killer known as "The Corinthian" who has, or had, an identical MO to both of these people. I believe they are the work of one person, whom we might as well call the Corinithian."  
  
"Cornithian? So they know he was Greek?"  
  
"No one has _any_ clues as to his ID, Robin. Don't let the name distract you though - "Corinthian" is an old term for anyone who was degenerate or depraved."   
  
"Some one, surely there must be SOME clue as to who he is. Hairs left behind or something."  
  
Batman shook his head, though Robin's outburst matched his own first reaction too, "This person has never left a fingerprint, or a hair sample, or any other forensic trace anywhere there has been a body found. He simply appears, starts killing and then disappears, sometimes for weeks, sometimes for months, sometimes for a couple of years, but he always comes back.."  
  
"I don't think anyone has put together the whole pattern of his crimes before. The Batcomputer collates more data than any single organisation even the FBI, so we might be the first to join all the dots to make up this big a picture. Besides, the idea of anyone living that long is a lot easier to accept these days than it might have been in the days before so many metahumans were known."  
  
"But if he didn't leave any clues at ANY of the crimes, it doesn't help us that much more anyway, does it?"  
  
"Any information might prove useful to working out a pattern, Robin. That's what I'm going to be working on when we get back from patrol."  
  
Robin was reading the screen again, using one of the keyboards to call up data about the victims, rather than just about the crimes. Names and dates flashed up on the screen.   
  
"Good grief, nearly ALL the victims appear to be kids, any other pattern as to who he picks?"  
  
"Some are people who just got in his way, but the rest? Street kids mostly, usually boys who…" Batman found that, despite his legendary detachment, he had a hard time actually using the term in front of the boy he considered to be his son. "..sell their bodies to adults on the street."  
  
Robin's eyes widened, he wasn't naïve, but there were some things he'd rather not dwell on. He dealt with crime as Robin, and since you couldn't pick and choose what crimes were the "nice"" ones to deal with, that sometimes meant deeply unpleasant subjects would crop up. Bottling up emotions about them wouldn't do anyone any good, especially the next victim, so he pressed on. "You never really seem to bother with that sort of crime, petty vice and the like."  
  
Batman's look would have frozen hell itself, "This isn't a petty vice. What an adult chooses to do with his or her own body is their own business, provided it hurts no one else I have no quarrel with them. A child is a different matter altogether and from the outset, most of those in Gotham who have such…. 'tastes' have known I take a singularly dim view of their activities. Those who didn't know, soon learn, and learn that I don't bluff either.   
  
Robin shuddered slightly. He knew that Batman wasn't trying to scare him specifically, but he was just so damn good at "The Voice". He'd spent long hours with Alfred trying to get a "Voice" of his own, but he had a feeling it would probably work better once his voice had, well, broken properly for starters.  
  
Batman continued, sounding suddenly tired "It still happens of course, there are always those who are prepared to take risks to get twisted thrills, and young people who are desperate enough to offer them, but I do what I can."  
  
Robin tried, as usual, to brighten the mood before Bruce went all moody again. "So when are we going after this creep."   
  
It wasn't always easy sounding so eager, but he reckoned it was part of the job of being Robin, keeping Batman from being consumed by his own seriousness.  
  
As usual, the effort had no visible success. "_We_ are not, I am."  
  
"We're not going to have another one of those 'You're not old enough for this.. ' discussions are we?"  
  
"No we are not. You are old enough to understand a direct order. This case is out of bounds for you."  
  
"Why? Because he's picking on kids my age?"  
  
"Robin… Dick…" Batman stood and faced him (Robin decided not to mention his mentors breach in 'mask etiquette'), looking him straight in the eye. "I'm not sure I trust myself on this case. It touches on matters that are almost mundane, but are as warped as anything Arkham has ever thrown at us. I can't ask you to get involved with that, so I'm not going to. You'll patrol as usual, but on matters relating to this case, you will not get involved."  
  
"If you're dealing with kids my age, wouldn't it be better to have me along? I could probably relate better to them than you could."  
  
"No, no debate, no discussion. I have to know I can trust you to obey me. Now I want to see you do five laps around the cave before patrol. You have two minutes, then I want you to run the pre-patrol diagnostics on the car."  
  
Robin sighed and started jogging towards the edge of the Cave.  
  
Batman's voice echoed behind him "Excuse me, I didn't say anything about using the floor."  
  
Despite himself Robin smiled, THIS was the sort of challenge he enjoyed. He reached into his belt for his grapnel launcher whilst scanning the stalactites of the cave for the best place to start. As he launched himself into the air he thought to himself  
  
"But if you think this is going to distract me Bruce, you don't know me as well as you think you do."  
  
Down below, Batman sighed to himself. He knew exactly what Robin was thinking, but he'd laid down the rules as clearly as he could, that was as good a starting point as he could hope for. He turned to start checking his equipment for their forthcoming patrol.  



	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
'Razors Edge', Gotham City the following night  
  
'Razors Edge' was the name given to a part of Gotham not even the most dedicated tourist would ever have wanted to visit. It was a side street between two derelict slums. It was barely an alleyway really, but it was one of the places where those seeking the darker shades of vice went looking. It was a place of avoided eyes and guilty glances.  
  
Brad knew he was running a risk being here, the Bat's reputation for breaking up his particular sort of business was legendary, but he needed the money really badly. His landlady (She disliked the term "pimp"), Ma Graves, was upping the rent on his room again, and there was only one way he knew to get the money he needed that quickly.   
  
Brad had his eye on one john in particular who was cruising the street in a blue Cadillac. For starters it was a nice car, not just that it was a classic, but it was well looked after. It was a trick you picked up on the street, no pun intended, expensive cars didn't mean a thing if they weren't looked after. If a guy didn't look after his car, then what did that suggest about how he treated other things?  
  
It didn't work all the time of course, Brad had had his share of bad experiences, "clients" who went too far because it was their money next to the Gideon Bible, but it was a guideline he followed anyway.  
  
He hunched himself deeper into his jacket. It was black leather and stylish, a present from one of his regulars, who said that with his dark hair it make him look like Marlon Brando. The only "Marlon Brando" Brad knew of was an old fat guy who he'd seen in some lousy movie with Val Kilmer (Who _wasn't_ bad looking in Brad's estimation), so he must have meant someone else, at least, Brad hoped to God he did. There was a hat that went with it, but Brad only ever wore that for the regular himself, he looked a complete jerk when he was wearing it.  
  
He took another drag on his cigarette. Ma Graves had very definite rules, smokes on the street if you wanted, nothing stronger, or you would be out so fast your ass would bounce down the pavement like skipping a stone across a lake. Off shift, weed if wanted it, but you bought it from her and anyone with needle tracks would likewise be out on the street. It was also all right to come back with the smell of alcohol on your breath if you'd had a good night's business, but not otherwise.  
  
The car braked up the Edge from where Brad was standing and the driver beckoned a small group of boys over to him. They approached with the usual swagger, each trying desperately to show why they were the one to pick. He asked them a couple of questions, and several immediately shook their heads and backed off, returning to their spots with as much dignity as it was possible to muster on a chilly night when you're not wearing very much. Whatever he was asking for wasn't something they wanted to sell, which was a clue in itself.  
  
The guy finished talking to the crowd, a couple of who pointed in Brad's direction. Like him they worked for Ma Graves, but clearly weren't as desperate for the rent money, and besides they tended to try and send each other business if possible. Brad sauntered up to be next to the pavement when the car pulled up, taking a last drag on the cigarette before stamping it out. Waste of an inch of tobacco, he thought ruefully, but hopefully this would be worth it.  
  
Leaning through the Cadillac window, Brad saw that, up close, the driver was probably in his thirties despite his short silvery white hair, was well built and knew it well enough to wear a cutaway T-shirt and designer jeans, both of which were brilliant white. He wore an expensive looking pair of wraparound shades, but they didn't hide the fact he was good looking. If "cool" needed a poster-boy, this guy could have been it.  
  
"Hi there, bright eyes!" said the driver.  
  
Brad had often been complimented on his eyes, which were a soft hazel colour, he always felt they were his best feature, so the guy was foff to a good start  
  
"Hi stranger!" And now the dance began…  
  
"I was wondering if a guy like you might be able to tell a visitor passing through this ol' town of yours if there's a good place to have some fun around?"  
  
"That depends, what sort of fun are you looking for?"  
  
"Well, the company of another guy is always good in a strange town, a "boys night out" sort of thing…"  
  
There wasn't even a trace of embarrassment or hesitation in his voice, which was always a relief. This guy knew exactly what he wanted. Many times Brad had had to practically play word association to get a john to admit what exactly he wanted in advance.  
  
"..I was wondering if you might be able to… show me the ropes?"   
  
Brad raised an eyebrow and forced a smile, that sounded like the sort of code he was used to "…or you might show me?"  
  
"You never know" He beamed and Brad noticed he had a really nice smile, with white, even teeth. Again, such things mattered little, considering what this guy was wanting, but even so… It had been a slow night so far, and miserable pit though it was, Ma Grave's place beat sleeping on the street.  
  
"Gotham is an expensive town. It could take quite a bit just to get us through the night, and the things I can show you. Especially if you want to walk on the wild side."  
  
Again with the smile, "Oh that's not a problem, I have resources, and I like sharing with my friends. I DO have to admit that I like the wild side though. Nothing too… frenzied, but certainly a little…. energetic. On a scale of 1 to 10, lets call me an 8. Would a couple of hundred for the next couple of hours be enough do you think?" The man pulled out a wallet and showed the relevant bills to Brad before tucking thema way again.  
  
Brad was listening very closely, especially to the money offered. There wasn't the air of desperation that often spoke of a build up of uncontrollable violence, nor was there outlandish offers of money, which almost guaranteed a bad trick. He still had a couple of scars to show for the last time he hadn't listened closely enough. This guy sounded almost genuinely curious, which was rare enough in itself.  
  
"Well, for three hundred, I think I might be just the guy you're looking for."  
  
The guy frowned slightly, then smiled, another good sign in Brad's book, it meant he had thought it over carefully before going ahead. "You know, I think you might be right. I have a motel not far from here. Care to come for a drive in my car?"  
  
Brad smiled again "My Mom always told me not to take lifts from strangers."   
  
Actually his Mom's most memorable, and last, piece of advice to Brad had been nearly three years ago "Get the hell out of here and don't come back! I don't need a brat around queering my chances with this guy." He'd been two days shy of his eleventh birthday.  
  
"A wise woman, your mother. All right, I'm Cory and you're..?"  
  
"Brad."  
  
"Okay. Brad, now we're not strangers, would you like to come for a drive in my car?"  
  
"I was going to insist on it. A Caddy, right?" Brad knew that he should keep things business like, after all this guy did just want to pay to screw him and god alone knew what else, just like all the others, but he seemed so open and, for want of a better term, charming, that it didn't seem like the same thing at all. This guy projected friendly vibes even to people he'd just met.  
  
Another part of Brad's mind was asking., "Why does a guy this cool, this good looking and this confident with himself, need to pay for rough sex with an underage kid then?" but he chose not to listen to it, as he so often ignored it in the past.  
  
He gave the invisible sign to Marcus, Ma Graves current shepherd, a giant of a man who could probably squeeze blood out of a stone and who was there to protect Ma's "investments".  
  
The other guys on the street who knew Brad waved as he left and he waved back at them. Half an hour later they would have found it impossible to describe the man they had saw Brad leave with, or even what type of car he drove, their memories of him were fading, like some sort of dream. Frowning, they would only recall him looking "cool".  



	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
The Restful Palms Motel, Gotham, two hours later  
  
Brad lay on the bed, more scared than he had ever been before in his life. He had no clue what was happening here.  
  
When they had arrived at the motel, it had been okay. Cory had offered him a drink from the honour bar, and he'd taken the opportunity to try a rum and coke. Not something he'd repeat unless it was all that was on offer, but it was one he'd wanted to try and no one had offered it to him before.  
  
Then Cory had asked him to strip to his underoos (That was the word he'd actually used, a word Brad hadn't heard since he was about five), which he had done, in front of him with the lack of embarrassment that only the knowledge you're doing it for money can create.  
  
Then he'd draped himself on the bed, and allowed Cory to come and look him over closely. For some reason Cory hadn't taken his glasses off, but he was the customer, so Brad didn't ask. Brad felt that Cory was staring into his eyes more than anything else.  
  
At first it had just been the usual "games", or so he though of them to keep himself from thinking about what they entailed. Stroking, fondling, the stuff that made you uncomfortable, but let you console yourself with the fact that it could be worse.  
  
Still, it had almost seemed perfunctory, as if Cory was thinking about something else, simply going through the motions to satisfy Brad's expectations. It was an unnerving experience, and he thought about just backing out and finding another john, but Cory had only paid him half the money up front, and he needed the rest to pay Ma.  
  
Then things were taken out of his hands. From a bag that must have been at the ready since before he even went cruising, Cory had pulled out several lengths of cord and, smiling all the while, had started to tie Brad's hand behind his back. This wasn't that big a deal, it was the sort of thing that people like Cory came to people like Brad for, and the reason he could charge the amount he did.  
  
But then it had changed. Moving with sudden speed, Cory had continued to bind him, looping ropes around his throat, his chest and his arms, then down through his crotch and around his knees and ankles, pulling each loop tight so it hurt, a lot.  
  
Brad had started to protest, but Cory had idly shoved one of Brad's own socks in his mouth so hard it nearly choked him and continued his work without a word.  
  
When he had finished he had thrown Brad down on the bed and then…. Done nothing. Now he was just sitting there, fully dressed. For some reason that was worse, as it implied planning something more than the usual demands.  
  
When Cory spoke next his voice had an odd echo, as if another voice were also speaking exactly the same words at exactly the same time, maybe two other voices.  
  
"So Brad, I did tell you I liked to play on the rough side. Hope this issn't too rough for you?"  
  
At this point Brad would have agreed to almost anything that might get himself out of here in one piece. He shook his head violently.  
  
Leaning forward Cory took the gag out of Brad's mouth, pressing his finger to the boy's lips to indicate he wanted silence for the moment  
  
"Now Brad, I want you to tell me about your dreams."  
  
"My what?"  
  
"Your dreams, I want to know your dreams." He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to have said.  
  
Brad felt puzzled, but the fear was still greater. "O-okay. Well…" he paused trying to remember what his dreams had been back before survival took precedence over everything, back from the time when he'd been able to afford dreams. "… I always wanted to be a footballer when I grew up, I was always good at they sai.."  
  
Cory interrupted, looking angry, "No, not THOSE sorts of dreams, I'm not looking for petty, pointless aspirations, I want you to tell me about the dreams you've had, the real dreams, when you're asleep, the ones that stick in your memory. I know that you remember them, bright eyes."  
  
Strangely, Brad thought, he was right - he'd always been able to remember his dreams. He'd had a room-mate once at Ma's who'd always sworn blind she could never recall her dreams, and he'd always thought it a pity. So he started to relate as many of them as he could, whilst Cory lay back on his chair and steepled his fingers, deep in thought.  
  
"There was one where I was walking through a field, but the ground kept sucking at my feet, and when I looked down, I could see that the grass was trying to grow up and under my skin, inside me"  
  
Cort smiled again, and nodded absently. If Brad had been able to think that straight, he might have recognised nostalgia in the man's face.  
  
"And then another time I was being chased by something that was buzzing, and when I looked around to see what it was, it was just like static flying through the air. It wasn't anything, and it wasn't nothing, it was just, like hollowed out snowflakes, with nothing inside. And then I was falling and flying, but I couldn't control which I was being "  
  
Cory snorted at that and Brad heard him mutter - "The place is going to wrack and ruin without him if that's the best they can do."  
  
Not wanting to keep going with that if it annoyed him, Brad dredged up another dream  
  
"And then one time I dreamt I saw the Batman"  
  
Cory suddenly looked up, interested "Did you?"  
  
"Well, I don't think I've never _really_ seen him, maybe a flash of cape some nights, swinging overhead, but I've talked to people who definitely have seen him. Anyway, in my dream I'm sure he was there, it was someone dark in the shadows, someone one not quite human. It was scary, but it was a good kind of scary because I knew that he was there to stop the other things in the shadows getting to me."  
  
An eyebrow lifted above the edge of the sunglasses "Really?"  
  
This continued for another twenty minutes or so, Brad relating everything he could recall from his dream, answering the questions that Cory asked occasionally.  
  
Finally Cory stood and got himself another drink from the honour bar. Making his selection he came across and squatted down next to the bound boy, who suddenly felt even more vulnerable than before.  
  
"Tell me Brad, have _I_ ever been I your dreams?"  
  
Brad felt that fear build inside himself again, why did that question terrify him so much?  
  
"What? No. But why would you. I've never met you before tonight, honest."  
  
"Really? Are you quite sure of that? I 'm not maybe lurking in the corners of your dreams for the past few nights?"  
  
And then Cory took his glasses off, and Brad felt the world spin of kilter. He felt sick and dizzy and was, though he'd have sworn a moment ago it wasn't possible, even more scared.  
  
"You're absolutely sure you haven't seen me?"  
  
Brad didn't say anything, but a couple of dreams he hadn't recalled clearly came back into his thoughts, a dark shape lurking just out of sight, a face with not one, but three smiles, which somehow made sense within the realms of a dream, but had seemed absurd when he was awake. Now he wished that it seemed absurd again.  
  
"Well, just in case you're not looking at things properly, if you don't mind I'd like to take a look for myself." From the same bag the ropes must have been in, he pulled out a hunting knife.  
  
Brad's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to scream, but the older mans hand was now clamped across his mouth, holding his whole head in place without apparent effort. There was nothing he could do to get away, he was too tightly tied to even move.   
  
The knife was moving closer now, looming into his field of vision until it was all that he could see… He'd always hoped to have some profound thought or other when this time eventually came, but frankly all he could think was "ohmygodohmygodohmygod"...   
  
And then Brad knew he must be hallucinating now because he could swear there was someone else in the room, a white skinned girl dressed in black, sitting on the far corner of the bed, shaking her head with a look of sadness on her face.  
  
Then the pain started and everything else became irrelevant……  
  
  
Some time later the Corinthian leant over Brad's still form and patted him on the cheek, then wiped his hand absently on the sheets to get the blood off.  
  
"Thanks Brad, you know, you really DID manage to show me something I hadn't seen before, and that's rare these days. The city has a protector again, but not like the ones of it's past. A guardian against the shadows, but this time it's someone who is one of the shadows himself? I thought he might be a myth, but it seems he isn't. I think I'm rather glad about that."  
  
When he reached the door the Corinthian turned and spoke aloud. "I know you were worried about having somewhere to stay Brad, but don't worry, the room's paid up until tomorrow. Check out isn't till eleven, and I've left the "Do not Disturb" sign out, so you just take your time, bright eyes."  
  
And with that he departed, humming an Art Garfunkel tune to himself. 


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
  
The Restful Palms Motel, Gotham, the following day  
It was 10.13am when the body was found. A cleaner had started her rounds early, and she ran screaming from the room moments after entering.   
  
It was 10.22 when the first police car arrived on the scene, closely followed by an ambulance.  
  
It was 10.40 when Commissioner James Gordon arrived to oversee the crime scene personally.  
  
It was 10.41 when Gordon cleared the room. He didn't give a reason and those who knew him didn't ask. Many had suspicions, but no one voiced them, if James Gordon says stay out, you assumed there was a good reason for it.  
  
At 10.42 James Gordon entered the room alone.  
  
He took a moment to look at the body, which had not yet been moved beyond the Paramedic checking for vital signs. He shook his head before making a promise he had made a hundred times before; "I'm so sorry son, we will get whoever did this to you."  
  
He was not at all surprised to hear a voice beside him.  
  
"We will, Jim."  
  
"I figured you'd want a look round the scene while it was fresh. Been here long?"  
  
"Just after the ambulance. I could see there was nothing I could do with all the people around."  
  
" 'These people' are professionals. All of them trained, all of them just as committed to fining this lunatic as you are."   
  
"I know. You know I didn't mean it like that Jim."  
  
"If I thought you did, we wouldn't be having this conversation. I knew you wouldn't miss a second victim, even if it means risking the daylight hours. You have five minutes, that's all I can spare."  
  
The dark figure was already in motion, moving around the room as silently as a shadow. He removed his cape so as not to disturb the evidence with it swirling around him.  
  
Even as a trained Policeman Gordon was fascinated. With Batman there was an economy of movement, as well as an intensity of concentration, which transcended any investigator he'd ever seen.  
  
Within the legend the cape created, the all too human man was working, noting, collate data, trying to establish patterns without making assumptions.  
  
He noted the boy's clothes, left in a crumpled heap presumably where he'd left them after removing them. He checked them for size, make and general condition. He examined them for any trace of dust or peculiar particulates. He went carefully through all the pockets, checking for identification of any sort and found none. He looked for any personal effects and found a half empty packet of cigarettes, noting the brand. He also found a wallet, which apart from small change, contained one hundred and fifty dollars in immaculately clean, non-consecutive bills. It also contained a picture of a boy who was probably the one lying dead on the bed, though several years younger, and with a man and women who were probably his parents. None of them looked especially happy in the picture.  
  
There was no evidence the shower or bath had been used. The toilet still had it's paper cover on it. He noted the absence of any personal effects anywhere in the motel room, the boy had not come to spend the night in any traditional sense. He even noted that the occupant had left the complementary shampoos and soaps that everyone takes almost on reflex.  
  
He noted the victim was a Caucasian male in his early to mid teens, still wearing briefs. There was no obvious evidence of sexual intercourse having taken place. He noted the type of rope used, the knots that had been tied and the appearance of the ends of the rope. He examined the injuries to the eye sockets and the remains of the eyes left on the dresser, and made an estimate to the weapons size and shape. He took photos with an elaborate looking, but compact, camera from his belt. He was careful not to touch anything, or if he did he moved it back to precisely the same position afterwards.  
  
He noticed that the coffee making facilities had been unused but that there were three drinks missing from the honour bar; One cola, one bottle of Ancient Mariner Rum, and a Braulich beer. All the bottles were still in the room and there were two used glasses. He noticed that someone had even left the exact amount on top of the honour bar to pay for the drinks. That disturbed him deeply, more than almost any other piece of evidence, it implied a controlled, thoughtful aspect to this murderer, which put him went beyond the merely warped and into the truly nightmarish.  
  
Whilst his eyes were noting all this, his hands were almost moving by themselves, taking small samples from here and there, storing them away in meticulous order in a small case he had brought with him for the purpose. Never taking an entire sample, always leaving enough for the CSI team. He had no wish to render their work useless.   
  
As the end of the five minutes approached, Gordon risked speaking again. "The FBI will be sending a team round sometime today to check the scene out. Federal case and everything."  
  
Batman didn't even look up from the test tube he was gently laying carpet fibres within. "Any chance they'll get in the way?"  
  
"Not likely, the agents we'll be getting know how Gotham operates, as long as they get a result of some sort, they'll be okay. Be grateful it's not going to be that flake Mulder again, spent more time hunting for you than he did for the Copperhead. I've called in a few favours. He won't be back."  
  
"A shame, he seemed to be an excellent profiler, if a little prone to the bizarre but, as you say, he did tend to get in my way."  
  
"And will you share what you find out with us on this occasion."  
  
"Of course, all the results of my tests, as usual. And Jim…thank you again for the time."  
  
"I wish to God you didn't need it, but I never waste a resour.." but of course, by this time, the room was empty apart from Gordon again. Gordon didn't even waste time imagining how he had got out.  
  
As he went to the door and gestured for the CSI team and the Coroner to enter no-one, not even the newly arrived news-crews, noticed the cleaning lady who exited the room three doors down, nor the fact that her face was slightly obscured and that she seemed to be inordinately tall. She pushed her trolley just slowly enough not to attract attention, but if any enterprising reporter had thought to follow her around the corner between the buildings of the motel, they would have been unable to find any trace of her, apart from an abandoned cleaning trolley near a manhole cover.  



	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6  
  
Gotham, same day  
  
There had been a news blackout on all media, which guaranteed, of course, that rumours had been all over the school by lunchtime. Proving, once again, that the best way to spread information to people who aren't supposed to know is to close the official channels.  
  
By the time the official story was released, Dick had heard four different variants on the story of the boy found dead in a Gotham motel with his eyes cut out. These ranged from him being a famed child film star, currently riding high on the box office charts, to a member of a boyband fallen on hard times, to his being a fellow student of Gotham High. Of course no names were mentioned in that last version and it was never anyone who was in the person telling the story's class, but such is the way of urban myth.  
  
Dick has used his lunch break to let Bruce know about the goings on via the concealed radio he always carried, only to find out of course, that Batman knew already. Dick had to admit that for a guy who was so cut off from things during the day, his resources were impressive.  
  
Even for Gothamites, who were inured to bizarre forms of death more than probably any other American city, these murders were something singular, disturbing, new. Perhaps it was the individual nature of the deaths. It was easier to become "used" to death when it comes in Joker sized helpings, but single murders were so much more… real, more personal  
  
When he got back from school, Dick broke the rules and went straight down to the cave. He wasn't surprised to find Bruce sitting in front of the crime lab, in costume with the cowl pulled down, so that he could look through his microscope more clearly.  
  
At the same time he was on a headset phone, using his rarely heard "I may be a playboy millionaire but I am not to be trifled with" voice;  
  
"Mr Hendricks, I frankly don't care about the cost. If no one claims the body, I expect the Wayne Foundation to fund the cost of a decent burial for the boy, as is our custom."  
  
There was a pause and though he couldn't hear a word of it Dick was sure he could hear someone on the other end digging their own professional grave.  
  
After a moment Bruce continued. "Hendricks, I am not in the habit of giving explanations for my actions to those who wish to continue in my employ, but as you are new to the organisation, and it is clearly a concept past your conception, I shall make an exception. My reason is simple, I do not wish any child who dies by violence in this city to go to a paupers grave, it would be an unseemly reflection on our society, and I choose not to permit it whilst my circumstances allow. Now, I have made my expectations clear and I expect my wishes to be acted upon. Good day."  
  
Hanging up, Bruce leaned over and hit a speed dial number on his phone, at the same time keying something on the computer terminal beside him.  
  
This time his voice was more like the playboy Bruce, but not totally. Dick and Alfred had once sat down and itemised the distinct modes of speech that Bruce and Batman used between them. They'd given up when they reached eighteen. How he managed to keep them all straight in his head was anyone's guess.   
  
"Lucius? Bruce. Hendricks in Accounts seems to be having trouble settling in. He had the audacity to question one of my decisions. No, I'm not asking you to fire him… he has a wife and three children and his works seems to be generally adequate, but I do expect him to be warned of the cost of arguing with the boss because he thinks he's a soft touch. Thanks Lucius.", his voice shifted again, rising a few notes, "By the way, I'm feeling a little bored, golf on Thursday? 10.30? Great." The finger stabbed out again and broke the connection.  
  
Without looking up Bruce spoke aloud this time using voice number 11; Parental authority figure "And what are you doing here now, Dick?"  
  
"Well with this other murder, inside Gotham itself, I thought you could use some…" he paused, realising that Hendricks wasn't the only one risking professional suicide. "Backup support in the cave?"  
  
"Nice try Dick, but you know the deal. 'Homework first,.."  
  
"..beating up deranged psychopaths later', Yes I know, but this case is.."  
  
"One I have told you you are not getting involved with."  
  
Dick sighed, this _was_ going to be a tough one. But any case where he said he didn't want Robin around was, in his experience, exactly the sort of case where he needed to have Robin around. Of course, Bruce would never see it like that, nor would Gordon, Alfred perhaps, but he'd be too concerned for Dick's welfare to admit it, least of all to Bruce. A retreat now might pay off in the longer run, Dick reasoned.  
  
"Sure, sure. I'll see you later then."  
  
It was two and a half hours later when Robin returned to the cave, this time fully suited up. Batman appeared not to have moved.  
  
"Okay, what have we got?"  
  
Batman gave him a look.  
  
"What? All right, what have YOU got. You say I can't follow you around on this case, fine, that doesn't mean I can't help out with the background work. The analysis."  
  
Batman sighed, maybe a fresh perspective might help, but not right now. There were other priorities, and frankly, he needed a bit of a break from lab work himself.  
  
"Before you get carried away with your powers of deduction, Boy Wonder, it's training time."  
  
The pair of them proceeded to the workout area, basically an open stretch of cave with exercise equipment and minimal crash-mats. There was also an array of hand weapons for training purposes.  
  
From one of these arrays, Batman pulled out a plastic knife, which Robin recognised as a theatrical prop, designed to leave a red, bloodlike trail where it touched something solid.  
  
Batman was quite methodical, "The object of this exercise is to remove the knife from my hand, without getting touched by the blade, and without allowing me to injure either yourself, or myself. Either event will lead to a failing grade. You may not use any implement from your utility belt."  
  
Without a pause Batman dived towards Robin swinging the blade wildly and shouting incoherently at the top of his lungs, as if he were genuinely crazed.   
  
Robin sidestepped the blade easily, jumping up and striking out at Batman's knee with one foot, whilst catching Batman on the knife arm's elbow with his fist.   
  
Batman's arm fell limp as he fell his knees, the knife dropping to the ground beside him. Robin knew the blows wouldn't have really hurt him, but Batman had had stuntman training at one time, and could fake many different attacks.  
  
"Good, if you're dealing with a mindless thug that would do nicely. Now let's try something a little more sophisticated.  
  
As if he hadn't been touched by Robin's blows, Batman picked up the knife again and instantly the knife started to flicker in Batman's hand as he wove it in and around like a street fighter. He started to circle around Robin, the knife darting backwards and forwards as he started taunting.  
  
"C'mon little birdie, let's see whether you got dark meat or white meat."  
  
Robin could never get used to that, he was no mean mimic himself, but he couldn't switch the body language of another personality on and off the way Batman could. Every move he made spoke of a cocky street punk, used to winning fights with his preferred weapon.   
  
Robin, though, recalled the cardinal rules of such situations. Watch the eyes, not the knife, and don't listen to a word they're saying. He circled too, waiting for the slightest opening…  
  
And so it continued for another fifteen minutes, attack style after attack style, from trained mob iceman to amphetamine freak convinced his opponent was a demon incarnate. Many styles were needed, and Robin was trained in nearly all of them. Those that he wasn't he managed to improvise through.   
  
And then Batman broke off, and gave the all-clear signal to Robin, crossing his fists in front of him and nodding his head sharply.  
  
"Those were some good moves Dick. No the ones I might have gone for myself, but effective nonetheless."   
  
Batman draped a friendly arm over his shoulder and started to steer him off the training mat Almost without thinking Robin sent his elbow crashing into Batman's wrist, ducked down, spun on one heel and, catching him just behind the knees, knocked Batman legs from under him, . The knife clattered out of Bruce's hand.  
  
"Why did you do that?" Batman asked in an almost hurt tone. Robin wasn't fooled  
  
"You called me Dick, not Robin, that meant this was an assumed pose and the exercise wasn't over."  
  
Batman nodded, "Excellent work Robin, and a good disarm, but I'm afraid that you still lost."  
  
Robin frowned "How? I made you drop the knife before it could touch me."  
  
"Look at your shoulder."  
  
Robin looked down and saw a line of red paint just below his collar. He glared up at Batman, who produced a second, thinner blade, hidden in the palm of the hand that had been a round Robin's shoulder.   
  
"I said you had to disarm me, I didn't say I'd stick to one weapon at a time."  
  
"That was cold, even for you."  
  
"Just teaching you that trust is a rare gift, and should never, ever be taken for granted. Suppose the Mad Hatter had been controlling me."  
  
Robin still gave him a dirty look behind his mask. "I know trust is rare, but maybe you might try showing it every once in a while. And, by the way, the use of knives in this exercise was in no way an attempt to dissuade me from getting persisting in getting involved in a case where the suspect uses a knife on kids my age?"  
  
Anyone other than Robin or Alfred probably wouldn't have noticed the slight shift in the mask that indicated that Batman had raised his eyebrows behind his cowl. Robin guessed that Bruce hadn't consciously made the choice, or if he had was hiding it better than usual.  
  
As often happened when a question came close to the bone, Batman ignored it.   
  
"I don't have time to deal with sulking, Robin. And since you didn't pass the first test you know what that means?"  
  
"Oh no!"  
  
"Oh yes … POP QUIZ!" There was almost a malevolent tone in Batman's voice.  
  
Robin groaned. This was one of the worst parts of Batman's training regime. Ten minutes of quick-fire questions at the same time as weight training, with a thirty second exercise penalty for each incorrect question, such sessions had been known to last three quarters of an hour, which would have been enough to lay low an Olympic athlete  
  
Apart from allowing Robin to change from his currently clean costume into sweats (no point making more dry cleaning work for Alfred), Batman wasted no time in starting, spotting Robin as he lifted the dumbbells.  
  
"Element represented by Hg?"  
  
"Mercury"  
  
"Capital of North Dakota?"  
  
"Bismark!"  
  
"Superman's major weaknesses?"  
  
"Kryptonite and magic. Though you probably count honour and decency too."  
  
"Correct, but a 100 yard dash in under eight seconds penalty within the next two days, for sarcasm."  
  
Robin groaned.  
  
And so it went on, more and more questions filling the air, and trying to concentrate on answers whilst the weights went up and down, and up and down. By the five minute mark Robin's arms felt like wet string, but still he kept going.  
  
"Sequence of lights at a traffic signal?"  
  
"Colours of the waistcoat Alfred was wearing on Wednesday?"  
  
"Chemical formula for TNT?"  
  
"Correct procedure for a standard autopsy?"  
  
And so this exercise continued too, until….  
  
"Why is a raven like a writing desk?  
  
"Because…. Because…? Because "  
  
"Want to give it a guess?"  
  
"You always say 'Don't guess if you don't know.', and I don't know"  
  
"Good, that's a satisfactory answer, and a good time to end the quiz. You did well."  
  
From Batman that was close to gushing endorsement, but Dick knew better than to react.  
  
"Now get cleaned up, we have a busy night ahead. I need some lab work done, we have to see Gordon with the results I've pulled together and then we have a social call to make before we go on normal patrol."  
  
As Robin moved off to shower and change he paused and turned back.  
  
"Okay, I have to ask, why _is_ a raven like a writing desk?"  
  
Batman shrugged, "I don't know either. It's a quote from Alice in Wonderland, and it doesn't have an answer, Carrol never wrote one for it in the book., though many people have offered suggestions."   
  
"The thing to bear in mind about it Robin, is that not everything has a clear cut answer or solution, even if it looks like it might and no matter how hard you look. Bear that in mind when dealing with the type of people we do."  
  
"Thus endeth the lesson?"  
  
"Thus endeth the lesson."   
  
Robin turned away again, but turned back one more time,  
  
"We're going on a _social_ call? Where too?"  
  
"McSurley's."  
  
Robin stopped dead in his tracks and looked at the retreating back of his guardian who was heading back to the science lab.  
  
"You're kidding, right?"  



	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7   
  
City Park Hotel, Gotham City, same night   
The Corinthian was taking it easy for the evening, choosing to abstain from the activities some narrow-minded human might refer to as "vices".   
  
He was pleased with the results of his trip so far. He was sure that Nicky and Brad would be proud of the publicity they attracted, even if they hadn't put a name to Brad yet.   
  
There was one fly in the ointment though, Gotham wasn't like any other city he'd been to before, they had a resistance to horror which bordered on the supernatural, the citizenry having faith, not in their police force, but in this mysterious Batman.   
  
He'd started the ball rolling gently, and fear and tension were on the upswing, he could sense that just walking down the street, he could taste the anxiety on the wind. His style of killing was always good tabloid media fodder.   
  
Rumours had begun to spread, and rumours were always more powerful than facts, since they didn't need to be proven. He'd need something impressive to get the attention of this town, but to push things too far now would things peak too soon. He had thought about having some more fun tonight, and had actually picked out his target when he had realised that it might seem greedy or, worse, repetitive, and that would never do.   
  
He was glad he had overcome that impulse, because tonight was a perfect night to relax, sit back, and enjoy the nightmares.   
  
Even now, human nature being what it was, older siblings were scaring little brothers and sisters with tales of the "thing" that would come slithering into their bedrooms in the night, and eat their eyes out of their heads. They were gleefully conjuring life into the shadows of bedrooms with their words. Parents berating said older siblings and then trying to pacify the scared children would only reinforce the images. The storytellers would even be scaring themselves, by adding depth to horrors that should never have been voiced. And the parents would have troubled sleep too, worrying about what would happen if one of their children were a victim. It was a marvellous self-perpetuating cycle. It was almost too easy to exploit, but it was what he excelled at.   
  
So tonight he would settle back and savour the joys of fresh minted nightmares spreading through the city like a plague, and watch for some glimpse of the mysterious vigilante that Brad had mentioned and people all but prayed to. He had chosen this penthouse especially for the purpose. He had a magnificent view of the city, including Police Headquarters. Whilst normal vision or even binoculars might not be enough to see anything clearly at this range, well, that wasn't exactly the way the Corinthian looked at the world, he just needed line of sight, ina manner of speaking.   
  
And whilst he was waiting, and basking in the growing aura of horror, he could plan for tomorrow, because tomorrow would be a different affair. He had to think of something special.   
  
Sudden movement drew his attention towards Police Headquarters. That fancy spotlight, which the Corinthian frankly thought rather overblown, had been turned on a short time before, so he was hoping to see something soon.   
  
And sure enough, he was not disappointed. One minute the roof was empty, apart from Gordon, whom the Corinthian recognised from his terse "No comment" soundbites on the news. The next moment, HE was there, tall, imposing, impossibly dark, his long scalloped cloak seeming to draw the shadows both around him and into him. It was a remarkable effect and the Corinthian slowly clapped in appreciation, now _this_ was a man who knew the value of darkness.   
  
But admiration went clean out of his mind when he saw someone else beside the Batman on the roof, someone who had clearly arrived WITH the Batman. It was a dark-haired young boy in a mask and a rightly coloured costume. And a _perfect_ boy too, he could have seen that from the moon, never mind this range. Who was he? Why hadn't Brad mentioned him?   
  
The Corinthian literally had to tear his gaze away from the boy to watch the Batman again. Their body language spoke volumes. If this pair weren't father and son then he'd crawl back to the Dreaming on his hands and knees!   
  
The Corinthian smiled, from ear to ear and all the way to his eyes. The possibilities that presented themselves were… glorious.   
  
His only concern now, was that this was almost TOO perfect, and he would have to work hard to avoid cliché, but what was true art without a challenge to ones creativity?   
  
There was a knock at the door, and the Corinthian, swiftly donning his dark glasses, opened the door to a positively adorable young waiter in spotless white shirt and black bow tie, arrived carrying a club sandwich and a soda. He had been the intended victim for tonight, hence the meal order but…   
  
The Corinthian paused… maybe he could fit in a _little_ entertainment this evening. After all, the night was young, and so was the waiter.   
  
He took a quick glance around the room, the curtains were held in place with some stout cord, and he'd never dream of going anywhere without his knife, so it wasn't like he'd need to get any equipment ready… Of course, it meant he'd need to leave the hotel almost immediately, staff would be missed more quickly than visitors, but he did have the most gorgeous grey eyes and it would be such a shame to let them go to waste, to spoil and become cynical as he saw more of the real world…   
  
_No_, he chided himself. He had promised himself a night off for aesthetic reasons and besides, he had a feeling he wanted to be where Batman was on such a night. Now he had seen the "Dark Knight", now he had a sense of him, it wouldn't be difficult for someone with his abilities to follow him, and his companion was so full of life that he all but glowed in the dark to someone with the right vision.   
  
With a silent sigh the Corinthian took the sandwich, tipped the waiter and watched him leave (in blissful ignorance of his narrow escape). Well, he was booked in for two nights, so there was always tomorrow he thought to himself.   
  
As soon as the waiter was safely out of sight, the Corinthian threw on a jacket and headed out into the night.   
  
Gotham Police HQ Roof, same night.   
Gordon stood by the signal. He had resisted snorting when the "Dynamic Duo" (Damn but he hated that term) had appeared in their usual mysterious way. He'd seen it so often that he'd stopped even analysing it.   
  
Batman held out a folder (And how had he managed to carry that when swinging on those ropes of his?)   
  
"Here are the results I promised you. Not exactly permissible in court, but they might help your team. Some of the tests will require longer, you can't hurry chemistry, but when I have them, so will you."   
  
Gordon took the envelope and nodded his appreciation. In turn he pulled out a somewhat smaller folder.   
  
"And in case _you_ missed anything. The preliminary findings from _my_ team."   
  
It was Batman's turn to nod, and he started reading immediately, blocking out the rest of the world.   
  
Robin and the Commissioner found themselves looking at each other in a somewhat awkward silence, the generation gap yawning between them.   
  
"Evening son… Keeping well?"   
  
"Yes Commissioner. You?"   
  
"The usual. Should cut down on the pipe, but you know how it goes."   
  
Robin nodded as if he completely understood and the awkwardness engulfed them both again..   
  
Gordon found small talk with Robin difficult and kept it to a minimum when he had to, which always seemed slightly unfair to the boy. But he had a hard enough time with Barbara, and he saw her every day on a family basis.   
  
From his own observations Robin was easy enough to talk to, a hell of a lot easier than his mentor, but Gordon had so little in common with modern youth, and he had a feeling the same was probably true of the boy at some level, that he had no idea what to talk about. Gordon flatly refused to discuss the weather or politics with a kid in a cape, talking about a case seemed like encouraging him, which he felt bad about, and he silently dreaded the day he would be forced to resort to asking "How 'bout them Knights?" simply for something to say.   
  
"How's Barbara doing?" Robin ventured.   
  
Gordon smiled "She's fine. STILL out of your league of course…" Robin might have started to blush at this, but in the shadows of the roof it was hard to tell.   
  
Knowing it had been a slightly cruel thing to say Gordon changed the subject slightly. "How's HE doing?"   
  
He didn't need to say whom he meant.   
  
"Oh, you know, obsessive as ever…"   
  
"And still listening thank you very much…." came The Voice "And WE have somewhere else to be Robin."   
  
Robin smiled and shrugged as if that explained everything, which it did. Gordon turned to look at where Batman was to discover what he meant, and noted with no surprise whatsoever that there was nobody there anymore, he turned back to find that Robin was gone too.   
  
He could have tried to track them as they swung away, but he had long since grown out of that habit. They came they went, that was enough. Tucking the folder Batman had given him tightly under his arm, he went back inside. He needed a strong coffee and he needed it now. They may be the best crime-fighters he had ever known who weren't cops, but they were damned hard on the nerves. 


	9. Chapter 8

With an extra tip of the hat to Mike W Barr and Alan Davis, for so memorably creating McSurleys in the first place.   
  
Chapter 8   
  
McSurley's Bar, Three hours later.   
  
"McSurleys" was, even by Gotham's exceptional standards, a dive. It was the sort of place that other cesspits could at least feel good about being better than.   
  
The rumours about this place were the stuff of legend. Robin had never been allowed to come here before and even alongside Batman, Robin approached it with caution.   
  
As they swung down from a nearby roof, and approached the steel-riveted door that was the only visible evidence of "McSurleys" existence other than the cheesy neon sign, the door swung open and a rather portly man wearing only his underwear was unceremoniously slung out. Pulling himself upright with a surprising amount of dignity, the man started to walk off down the street rather unsteadily.   
  
A voice from inside called after him. "And next time, don't ask the girls for credit you lousy pervert!".   
  
The voice belonged to McSurley himself, an overweight troll of an, allegedly, human being who ran the place with a very literal rod of iron.   
  
When he saw who was approaching the door, he muttered in what he probably thought was a whisper; "Oh great, I get rid of one freak and get two more….". Out loud he said; "Welcome visitors, to my fine establishment, do come in." A smile was not a pleasant thing to see on a face like McSurley's.   
  
"Normally I'd card the kid, but seeing as he's with a responsible adult like yourself, I think we can make an exception."   
  
"Very wise, McSurley. Profile?"   
  
"I'll just buzz up, but I don't think he's taking callers tonight."   
  
"That's a joke, right McSurley?"   
  
McSurley was sweating, it did nothing for his appearance, though it was hard to imagine what would "Uhhhh, yeah, sure Batman, just my idea of a little humourous banter with the customers. Ha ha. How'd I do?"   
  
"I'm not the best judge."   
  
McSurley fingered his collar nervously, "Yeah, well.."   
  
"Hiya Bats!!"   
  
The interruption came from a woman who had come up to them from her seat by the bar. Her appearance left few doubts as to her profession; a well-filled boob-tube, gaudy makeup, flashy jewellery, a skirt that was more like a belt with aspirations and a walk that seemed to involve more hips than was entirely natural. Underneath it though, Robin judged her to be actually quite attractive, and possessing a killer smile. She was beaming at, of all people, Batman.   
  
Robin tried to think of the number of people, other than himself, who ever smiled at Batman voluntarily, not to mention sincerely and got as high as "None" before events took an even more surreal twist; Batman actually smiled back, and not his scary smile either, a smile of genuine warmth.   
  
"Rhonda! Always a pleasure"   
  
"Don't _I_ wish!   
  
"I trust you're behaving yourself?"   
  
"Don't _you_ wish?"   
  
There was clearly history here, Robin felt, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know about it. It was bizarre enough seeing Batman engage in banter.   
  
"Profile?"   
  
"He's upstairs, said you were to go up."   
  
McSurley glared at her and even Batman gave her a sceptical look, but she just shrugged, unfazed;   
  
"Well, if you're here about what I think you are, then that's what I'd like to think he'd have said. And since I like to think the best of people let's just say that he did."   
  
Shaking his head at her logic, Batman moved upstairs, Robin started to accompany him, but Batman held him back.   
  
"Stay here would you, Robin, and keep an eye on things for me. I might need a quick exit and I need to know someone I can trust is watching my back." He was gone in a moment, and probably thought that Robin hadn't noticed either the glance that Batman gave Rhonda nor the almost imperceptible nod she had made in reply.   
  
He looked around at the assembled clientele, wondering if this was part of Batman's plan to keep him off this case, show him enough of the seamy underbelly of Gotham to persuade him to back off. Still pondering this, he felt his arm being taken by Rhonda.   
  
"C'mon and sit down kid and I'll buy you a soda."   
  
Well, as babysitters in the seamy underbelly went, he could have done a whole lot worse than Rhonda. He flashed his most disarming smile at her.   
  
"Thanks, I'd love to."   
  
- - -   
  
Whilst McSurley ran the downstairs bar, the upstairs was the domain of the man who went only by the name "Profile".   
  
No one was quite sure as to his past, or even his present most of the time. Profile broke all the rules, but he did it with style.   
  
Few took him seriously at first, fewer still made the same mistake twice. Profile may have looked flamboyant and effete, but behind the silk cravats and hundred dollar manicures, the pretty-boy face and the coiffed hair, was a mind sharp as a switchblade and twice as dangerous.   
  
It was rumoured that he had been a protégé of the Penguin, a behind the scenes arranger who had never once been implicated in so much as parking ticket. Seemingly the Penguin had taken a shine to the young Profile's style, even going so far, it was rumoured, as to give him personal training in some of the finer points of extortion and information brokering. Profile could certainly have had no finer teacher.   
  
Whatever the past, when Profile wanted to set himself up as a solo operator, the Penguin had actually given his blessing. This was almost unheard of, and gave Profile an instant aura of respect in the Gotham underworld. The kickbacks to the Penguin's mob must be enormous, but Profile never begrudged them.   
  
Profile was generally known for running small scale vice and prostitution, but it was his information services that brought in the big money. McSurley's was a hang out for those on the game, but it was different from others. It wasn't where they went to pick up business, thought they could if they wanted to, provided Profile got a slice of the action. It was a place where they could go and talk, and basically socialise in an entirely judgement free atmosphere. McSurleys reputation was carefully cultivated by Profile, and much of the violence came from attempts to move in on it by jealous rival, rather than simple brawling. It was very popular spot amongst it's target clientele and if information happened to be passed Profile's way from time to time, such as who certain customers might be, or what their personal tastes were, well, that was just one of those things.   
  
Batman tolerated him because he was useful and predictable, whereas a replacement might be neither.   
  
As usual, Moose was on duty outside Profiles office. Moose was built like a wall and was about as intelligent, plus he didn't ever seem to sleep, the perfect doorman. Batman sighed inwardly… Moose was always a challenge to get past, as it involved thinking down to his level. Clever strategies were completely wasted on someone with no subtlety, and they were what Batman excelled at.   
  
"Moose, I think I hear Profile calling you."   
  
"Nuh-uh, Batman. Mr Profile never calls me into his office. I break stuff too easy"   
  
Batman thought fast "He wasn't calling you in, he said he wanted a soda from downstairs."   
  
"He did? Why can't I hear him?"   
  
"Because he's finished talking now."   
  
Moose thought that over for a second.. "Oh, okay. Did he say what kind of soda?"   
  
Batman thought fast, soft drinks weren't really his thing. What was that dreadful stuff Dick drank again..?   
  
"A Zesti. He wants a Zesti soda" In a moment of inspiration he added "And he wants it in a left-handed can."   
  
"A Zesti inna left-handed can…. I can get that. I seen soda's downstairs." He sounded terribly proud of that feat of memory.   
  
Moose started to move away then stopped "I can't leave the door unguarded. Mr Profile would be mad at me."   
  
Batman was amazed, this was university-level thinking from Moose.   
  
"That's okay. I'll stay outside and guard the door for you."   
  
"You will?"   
  
"Of course. No one ever gets past me if I don't want them to, you know that don't you?"   
  
"Sure. Lots of people are scared of you Batman."   
  
"So you go get the soda for Profile, and I'll stay here, and no one will get in to see him. Right?"   
  
If there was something wrong with this logic, Moose couldn't see it. He was leaving the door, but Batman was there and he would be almost as good a doorman as Moose was so… Before his head started to hurt form all the thinking, Moose started to lumber down the corridor.   
  
"Just be sure not to let anyone else in Batman. Mr Profile wouldn't like that."   
  
"You have my word Moose, no one else will get through the door when I'm here."   
  
Moose vanished from sight, heading downstairs.   
  
Shaking his head at what he had just been through, Batman opened the door to Profile's office and slipped in.   
  
Seated at a hand-crafted antique desk, with a state of the art laptop computer in front of him, Profile was going through some paperwork. There was a selection of exquisite art around the office; Cabinets held Lalique statuary, China vases of immense age and even more immense value and paintings and hangings worth several small fortunes. As always, Profile liked to be surrounded by beauty and saw no point in not indulging his tastes. Batman reckoned some of it hadn't even been stolen.   
  
Without looking up from his work Profile said in a polite tone, "Do come in and sit down. Make yourself comfortable. I owe you that for not leaving Moose unconscious like last time."   
  
Batman simply placed himself in front of the desk. He loomed without any visible effort.   
  
"Before we begin, Profile, I've left Robin down there with Rhonda, I don't expect trouble and he can deal with most situations, but if anything happens to him whilst I'm here I am holding you personally responsible."   
  
"Happen to him? With you in the building? Even my customers wouldn't be that stupi…" Profile paused and thought for a moment. "…hmm, I see your point."   
  
With that he pressed a concealed button under his desk and a Japanese silk wall hanging behind the desk rolled itself up revealing an array of TV screens, each showing a different part of the downstairs area. Despite himself, Batman was impressed, he'd only spotted eight cameras in the bar and there were twelve different views.   
  
Profile must have spotted some reaction because he simply said, in an offhand manner. "Before you ask, under Molly's tray, inside one of the exit lights, in Jess's suspender belt and attached to a part of Sven's anatomy that even Commissioner Gordon would have a hard time getting a search warrant for."   
  
On several of the screens Robin could be seen, surrounded by a group of very ugly, heavyweight bikers. Rhonda was hanging around in the background, making her presence known, but not making any move. Batman saw Robin reach into his utility belt, cursed himself for leaving the boy alone, and was set to go racing down to assist him, already calculating attack strategies. Then he paused, Robin's stance was wrong for an attack or defence, and he'd never be that sloppy if he felt there was a risk.   
  
Instead, he saw that Robin was about to perform what he referred to as "his party piece"; batarang juggling. Within a moment he had three of his non-bladed batarangs flying between his hands in a complex pattern, and when a fourth somehow or other joined the mix, several of the bikers actually applauded. Batman shook his head, the boy never ceased to surprise him.   
  
Reassured that all was well, Batman turned back to Profile, who was also enjoying the display.   
  
"Talented kid you have there."   
  
"Right now I'm more interested in knowing about the kid who died last night."   
  
Profile's face clouded for a moment "What makes you think I'd know anything about it?"   
  
"You know everything about something and something about everything Profile, your sources are the best. And you'll tell me what I want to know."   
  
Profile slumped slightly and shook his head. "Normally, I enjoy playing this game Batman. I'd happily play it for half an hour just to make you feel it was worthwhile, but in this case it wouldn't help. I genuinely don't know anything about the murder. I'd tell you if I knew, believe me. I've heard the rumours of course, but this isn't a local job, doesn't match anyone around here's style. It's a visitor to Gotham, and I think you know who it is too, or have a good idea."   
  
Batman nodded, "The Corinthian"   
  
Profiles face became even more troubled. "Dear God. I'd hoped I was wrong. I haven't even mentioned it to the girls. Everyones heard the stories of course, but most don't believe them. Urban myths, though I suppose you already know about all that."   
  
Batman pressed on   
  
"Can you at least tell me about the boy? A name, something?"   
  
"You mean you didn't even know his name?" Profile looked aghast.   
  
"There wasn't any ID on the body, and he doesn't match any outstanding missing persons in Gotham. FBI will run a check, but those don't always work."   
  
Profile looked horrified. His hands were still, rather than their normal nervous fluttering when Batman was around. Batman half believed the emotion might be genuine.   
  
"I had no idea you didn't know it. How dreadful, to die without even a name. The name he used was Brad."   
  
"His real name?"   
  
Profile shrugged, "Probably. The girls figure he didn't look enough like any famous "Brad" they could think of to be using it as a hook."   
  
"Surname?"   
  
Profile shook his head, "He never gave one to anyone I've spoken to. Shirley thinks with his accent he might have been from Chicago originally, but no one's certain."   
  
"You're well informed about a street kid."   
  
Profile shrugged "_You_ came to _me_, so must have known I would be. It's my job to know these things, and I've actually been expecting a visit from you. I've already been asking the girls for any information they might have, Rhonda and a few others have been asking around on their own, bless them. Some of them like to keep an eye on the local 'babes in the hood'. Displaced maternal instinct or something. A couple of the girls remember seeing Brad last night, but can't tell you who he was with. They're all adamant they don't remember, and they weren't lying, not about something like this."   
  
"If you want to find out more about the boy, I suggest a visit to Ma Graves over in the Chocolate Box district. She makes sure her boys and girls are kept pretty much out of the loop, so none of my girls know them very well."   
  
Batman looked surprised and angry "Ma Graves is still in business? I closed her down two years ago."   
  
"And she came back four months ago, different locale, same pillar of society." There was no love lost here.   
  
"You didn't tell me about that."   
  
"To coin a phrase Batman, you didn't ask, She's well connected with several of the East Side mobs and she's far enough way from me for her not to be a threat to me or mine. A few of her "farm" were out on the Razors Edge last night though. Sounds like Brad was out earning the rent and got really unlucky."   
  
"Why _are_ you being so helpful about this Profile? It's not like you. Normally I have to at least threaten you."   
  
"Why? You can't believe that I'm simply a concerned citizen?"   
  
Batman just stared at him.   
  
"Didn't think you would. You know full well I never touch chicken-hawks or kiddieporn."   
  
"Oh yeah, you're lily white."   
  
Batman had never seen Profile angry before, he was usually too much of a coward, or kept his self-control too well, for that to happen, but he flushed angrily now.   
  
"Okay Batman, you think I'm scum, I know that, you know that, but you've always been decent enough to say so to my face. I don't like you, you loathe me."   
  
"Actually, I don't think of you often enough for it to be 'loathe'"   
  
"Whatever." Profiles anger wasn't petering out either. "I cut deals for my girls, and I look after them, they know they can trust me… well, more than they can trust anyone else, and anyone who hurts them will pay, one way or the other. But I have never dealt in kids. I never have, never will, and I'd burn this place down and panhandle before I did."   
  
"And why should I believe you on this."   
  
Profile looked straight at Batman and when he spoke his voice was barely a whisper, with an edge to it that Batman had never heard, the ring of absolute conviction;   
  
"Have you looked at the kids who have to do that to earn a crust? Really looked at them. I look at kids like that and I see shame in their eyes, I see pain, and I see distrust and I remember what that look felt like… from the inside."   
  
Looking at the haunted eyes behind the flamboyant appearance, Batman believed him and understood a little more about Profile than he had before.   
  
Without a word, Batman nodded and turned away.   
  
"Anything else you find out."   
  
"You'll know. And I'll have my girls spread the word to those on the street. The Corinthian's a bogeyman for kids like that, a few might even listen to them."   
  
- - -   
  
Downstairs Robin was still keeping the crowd amused. Batman would grumble that it wasn't doing their "aura of fear" amongst the criminal fraternity much good, but Robin worked on the principle that there was no point alienating people for no reason. Some of these guys might want to gut him there and then, but if you assumed that about everyone from the word go you ended up… well, like Batman.   
  
As if on cue he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. With a small sigh he gave his wrist a twist and one of the five batarangs currently in the air fell. There was a slight "Awwww" of disappointment from his audience until they saw that it hadn't dropped so much as it had been redirected. It curved upwards from it's downward arc, sailed through the air and impacted on the hand of the guy in the sharp suit holding the throwing knife seconds before he could let fly. From there it bounced off the guys temple as well, and he fell like stunned ox. A couple of the people at the table he had been sitting at rose and made a move on Robin, when to his surprise one of the largest bikers stepped between them, a solid wall of leather-clad gristle.   
  
"I don't think that's wise, do you friend?"   
  
"What's it to you Cleaver? He took down Aldo!"   
  
"The kid was defending himself. Anyone want to argue with that?"   
  
Anyone who might have had the slightest desire to suddenly took an interest in inspecting the floor. It got terribly quiet, apart from the sound of Moose at the bar, trying hard to remember what it was he'd been asked to get for Profile.   
  
"A Zombie? Do we have any Zombies here. No… maybe it was a Zippy….."   
  
In the still of the bar standoff, Batman emerged from the stairwell and all eyes immediately turned to him.   
  
"Come on Robin, say goodbye to your…. friends. We have other places to be tonight."   
  
"Sure thing Batman." With that he stowed the batarangs back in his belt so quickly they appeared to simply melt into thin air. "Sorry folks, gotta go."   
  
He actually got a round of applause, a sound he'd missed since he'd left the circus, and had to resist taking a bow. If Batman hadn't been there he would have done too, but Bruce was not keen to overt displays of appreciation, no matter how well Dick or Robin had done.   
  
He went over to join Batman, who was having a final word with Rhonda. He caught the end of what she was saying.   
  
"….and if you ever want the kid to get a proper education, send him back when he's legal and.."   
  
Robin felt himself starting to blush again, and Batman held up his hands "Thank you Rhonda, but I don't think that'll be happening."   
  
Rhonda shrugged in an offhand manner, "Hey, fine, I just thought I'd offer. Better to learn from the best I always say…"   
  
"Rhonda, you're incorrigible."   
  
"Nah, corrigible doesn't suit me, I'm cuter in pastels, and dynamite in fleshtones!"   
  
Her face took on a serious look "I don't know what Profile offered you, but catch this freak and the girls'll owe you BIG time." She broke the mood by fluttered eye eyelashes outrageously.   
  
"Enough so you'd take a night or two off on my account?"   
  
Rhonda clearly hadn't been expecting an answer, but rallied well "We'd…. consider it. Course, you'd need to provide some form of distraction for us… of one sort or another." There was a smattering of laughter from Rhonda's friends at the bar.   
  
Robin nudged Batman and whispered something to him. Batman nodded in approval, "Good idea… Self-defence classes for you perhaps?"   
  
Rhonda considered this seriously for a moment   
  
"Done. A girl can't be too careful. Maybe we can get a few of the kids to join us too."   
  
With a final acknowledgement to Rhonda Batman turned and headed to the door. He caught the pool ball that came whistling towards him without even breaking his stride and threw it back where it came from with even more force. Robin just had time to smile one more time at Rhonda, before he heard the sound of a heavy impact and a grunt of pain from the direction of the pool table. He picked up his speed.   
  
Meanwhile Moose was getting angry with the barman who told him that there was no such thing as a left-handed zebra anywhere in the bar. And when Moose got angry, things tended to get very, very hectic in McSurleys…   
  
In the ensuing melee, no-one seemed to notice the silver haired man wearing the dark glasses, sitting in one corner of the bar nursing a scotch and a cigarette who had been paying special attention to their recent visitors. Without a word he got up, avoided the assorted combatants wrestling with each other on the floor and slipped out the door, determined to follow his prey for a while longer. It promised to be rewarding, they moved within such interesting social circles. 


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9  
  
Back Alley, Gotham City  
  
The Corinthan was sure that the costumed pair would be long gone by the time he was outside. That would be no problem to him as they were easy to find when you looked the right way.  
  
As it turned out, he was wrong in one regard. A gang fight was taking place a street or two over and the "Dynamic Duo" has decided to intervene. This should be worth watching for all sorts of reasons.  
  
The Corinthian faded himself out a little. As a Major Arcana of the Dreaming he had certain... abilities, granted to him by his creator and never revoked, which he usually did not manifest on Earth. This was a special occasion however. When he faded he was able to see without being seen, hear without making a sound, closer to being a dream again than an actual person. He allowed himself to move somewhat faster than a human as well, he wanted to see what was going on. He found the perfect vantage point on top of a parked truck and watched the scene unfold.  
  
Batman had swung down between the two gangs. Both groups were populated with about twenty or so typical looking street thugs, and wore gang colours which presumably meant something to them. Each side was also laden with a variety of hand weapons; chains, knives, and a couple of the, presumably, higher-ranking members had handguns.  
  
The voice that came from the alleyway than ran off the main street seemed to broadcast itself from every direction. The tone was flat and final; "You don't want to do this."  
  
Batman stepped out of the shadows, and again the Corinthian was impressed by the man's ability to make an entrance. The shadows seemed to part to allow him through.   
  
Robin's voice, coming from where he was now very visibly lounging on the second storey of a nearby fire escape was more conciliatory "He's serious guys, you really don't. That way lies a trip to the Emergency Room; needles, stitches, swabs, medical insurance claims, all sorts of really bad stuff."  
  
Neither side looked ready to listen to either the bad cop or the good cop. To their credit, the odd member did suddenly look as though they wished they were several miles away, but none backed out.  
  
"Robin..." The Corinthian saw Batman make a small gesture behind his back, three fingers raised and splayed out.  
  
Whatever the signal was the boy clearly understood it, as within an instant three batarangs appeared in his hand and he was poised to throw.  
  
Both gangs decided to rush at the same moment, but found that their primary target was not where he had been a moment ago.   
  
Three batarangs curved through the air, striking at the three gang-members who had firearms at the ready. There were three shrieks as the razor points of the weapons, seemingly harmless toys in McSurleys bar a few moment ago, impacted on the hands holding the guns. One went off, firing wildly into the air, but the other two fell from suddenly agonised hands.  
  
Grabbing his jumpline, Robin then dived down from his vantage point and entered the melee. By withdrawing into the alleyway the gangs might have assumed Batman and Robin would be hemmed in, but had not realised that it simply meant they themselves were trying to cram themselves into a smaller space, presenting a larger, less mobile target for the two heroes. By the time they HAD realised this, it was too late to do anything about it.  
  
It was like a ballet in carefully modulated violence. For someone with such a long-standing, and well-cultivated, interest in brutality as the Corinthian, the contrast in styles was fascinating.  
  
The gang members themselves were hardly worth mentioning. No real style, no real skill, just muscle, and little in the way of brain. A couple had had some sort of rudimentary street fighting skill, but had never bothered to develop it much, and there were no martial arts to speak of.   
  
The Corinthian was a little surprised at this, most gangs had at least one self styled van Damme.... Ah, _there_ he was, as if on cue, jumping around and kicking his feet out in a way that was supposed to be intimidating, but was, to anyone with any real training, almost laughable. The boy took him out with a knee to the stomach and a backhand to the face, not even needing to turn and face him properly.  
  
Batman was pure power allied to exceptional dexterity. He knew how hard and where to hit to cause maximum (but not permanent) damage and used that force accurately, not an erg was wasted. When he hit you, you stayed down, first time, every time. He hardly seemed to move but was able to face each opponent at precisely the required angle.   
  
The boy had a different approach, his gift was in his speed and acrobatic skill. He dodged, he dived, he leapt over his attackers, never where anyone assumed him to be and he used that momentary confusion to strike out wherever they happened to be weakest. Though there were aspects of at least three martial arts that the Corinthian recognised, at times he appeared to be improvising his moves as he went along, but was good enough to get away with it. He leapfrogged over one gang member who was collapsing unconscious, and vaulted up, kicking out at the chins of two others from a position that was almost the splits.  
  
Watching, the Corinthian felt the hunger again, and controlled himself with an effort. It was important to observe his prey, and besides, stalking was a lot of fun. It was even moreso if your prey knew you were out there, but this was not the time for revelations of that order.  
  
Even as he mused, the fight came to and end. Amidst the pile of semi-conscious bodies there were now only two standing figures, and both were wearing capes.  
  
Batman's voice was cold, clear and certain; "This was a warning. You want a turf war, next time settle it another way. Something without weapons or injury."  
  
"Bowling is good... no that involves each side having access to heavy blunt objects, too tempting. How about canasta?" offered Robin helpfully. That earned him a glower from his mentor, but he just shrugged.  
  
Before they left, and after radioing in the location of the gangs, the Batman looked all around the area and, though it was against every law of nature and supernature, the Corinthian could have sworn he was looking right at him. He felt himself catch his breath and chided himself, in this state there was no mortal alive who would be able to see or hear him. Despite the numerous urban legends he'd heard, he had no sensation of any magical ability from either of these two, so it couldn't be that, could it be the Batman was just that observant?  
  
A second later both figures were gone again.  
  
Momentarily stunned the Corinthian stood there. Then he replayed those last few seconds in his head. He had seen the Batman looking at him, or rather "through" him, and in so doing he had seen the Batman's eyes. The protective lenses were no protection against the Corinthians perceptions, and what he saw there made him want to laugh out loud, he got the joke. The joke that even Batman probably wasn't aware of, but which he would be happy to share with him soon enough.  
  
He looked around for a suitable message to leave, but none of the unconscious bodies around him suited his needs; too old, too ugly, too damn dirty. There was nothing that would make it worth his while to kill any of them. He had nothing against mindless slaughter, but there was a time and a place for everything and this wasn't it.  
  
A short time later he found himself at Razors Edge again.   
  
The figure of the Batman was striding down in the middle of the street, his cloak swirling around him impressively. His body language was utterly no-nonsense and every single person on the Edge, every john, prostitute and pimp was looking at him. The fact he was dragging a man behind him without it even slowing him down probably helped get their attention.  
  
The boy was nowhere to be seen. This was not a time for him, this was a time for the Bat.   
  
His voice must be being amplified somehow because it filled the whole street. "Attention to anyone who can hear me. I am hereby closing down all illegal business on the Razors Edge. Spread this message around. A young boy named Brad was killed last night after picking up a client here."  
  
There was a minor commotion amongst a number of the underdressed boys clustered in one group. Their eyes were like saucers as they turned from simply staring at the Bat to talking amongst themselves.  
  
Batman continued talking as if nothing had happened. "I will find the man who did that, and he will face justice. In the meantime, bear in mind that apart from the legal penalties that such acts entail, anyone who solicits minors for sexual purposes will be subject to my close, _personal_ attention. Marcus here will attest to that, he's going to be helping me with my enquiries very shortly. Anyone who cares to doubt me on this is welcome to do so, but would be very foolish to do so. I have already noted all car license plates that have driven down this street tonight and I have means of finding every single one of those drivers. You will leave now, and not return to this place."  
  
With that there was a flash and a cloud of smoke billowing from Batman's feet, and when it had cleared he was gone, and so was the figure he had been carrying.  
  
The Corinthian had of course, seen the manhole cover inches from where Batman had stopped to make his announcement, and seen him climb swiftly down into it, but it was still an impressive sight. Anyone limited to normal vision would make the assumption that Batman had vanished into thin air. Dramatic entrance, deathly serious delivery, implied threats that left the listener to fill in the blanks and one hell of an exit. The whole performance had been masterly. There'd be rumours circulating for years about this little episode alone.   
  
He finally noticed the boy up on a rooftop, switching films in a miniature videocamera that was pointed at the street. Batman hadn't been lying about that then.  
  
The Corinthian felt strangely relieved by that. He hated dishonesty, be open about who you are and what you do, and you have nothing to fear. He himself was utterly honest about his mission and his action's, it's just that no one who ever asked him lived long enough to do anything about it. Honesty also made whoever he was facing more predictable, and that could be very handy indeed.  
  
He set out on the trail again, and after another fifteen minutes or so, during which time he found two bound muggers (Or so the notes signed with a small bat symbol attached to them said) and a singularly unsuccessful petty thief (Had she been a boy she might have almost been worthy of the Corinthians time, but such was not his luck), the Corinthian realised that he knew where they were heading, he'd seen parts of this area through Brad's eyes the previous night. And it was a far more likely possibility for some fun.  
  
God, he hadn't been there three days yet and already this urban cancer of a city was all but welcoming him like a long lost lover. If he played this right then it would be better than he could have ever imagined.  
  
And so the Corinthian found himself heading towards the area of Gotham known as the Chocolate Box. 


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10  
  
The Chocolate Box district was more formally known as Barr Heights. It had earned its nickname partly due to the dark brown stone that made up many of its buildings. It was also rumoured that the name came about because, as with any box of chocolates, there were hard, bitter centres hidden in amongst the rest.  
  
Batman and Robin surveyed one such deceptive looking building from a nearby rooftop.  
  
"So where did you leave the bruiser from the Edge? Hanging upside down off a flagpole somewhere."  
  
"No. Marcus and I have met before, over another matter."  
  
"And…." Honestly, it was like pulling teeth sometimes, thought Robin.  
  
"I remembered he has a thing about enclosed spaces."  
  
"So he's…?"  
  
"Hanging upside down in a nice dark sewer with lots of very loud rats. If Gordon's men don't find him after I radioed in his postion, he'll manage to free himself… eventually. He was coherent long enough to give me this address, and to confirm that he couldn't remember what the man that Brad left with looked like."   
  
"Brad? That the name of the kid from last night?"  
  
Batman nodded, "That's all I was able to find out so far. Apart from the fact he might have been from Chicago."  
  
"Not much to go on." Robin thought again for a few seconds "Is jt likely that Marcus wouldn't remember what the guy the ki… Brad left with looked like? Isn't it his job to remember stuff like that, note the licence plate or something?"  
  
"Yes, but he was too scared to lie to me. He seemed genuinely confused about it, so did everyone else in that crowd who remembered seeing Brad on the street, I listened in on them before I met up with you."  
  
"I didn't see….. oh yeah, kind of the point, right?" Robin looked faintly apologetic at entertaining the very idea that Batman would be seen by anyone whom Batman didn't want to be seen by.  
  
Batman overlooked the interruption. "They recall him leaving, but no details at all about the man involved. Some had even spoken to him, but they were as confused as everyone else, they recall a car, a "cool" car, but no more than that. Just like the motel clerks in Bludhaven and Gotham. It all ties in with the Corinthian's MO."  
  
"You think it's some sort of a power he has?"  
  
"Possibly, he might use drugs, hypnotism, or maybe it is some psychic talent. It'd certainly be very useful for a serial killer. That's speculation at the moment though. Tell me what you see here."  
  
If the change in topic threw Robin, he hid it well, adopting his best professional tone. "Detached two storey building, with an sealed up attic and a basement level too, garden out back, high walls with razorwire on top. One main door at front with heavy locks, one at back, plus basement door at front reached by steps. Rear exit not used much judging by the way the garden is overgrown. Security locks and bars on the outside of the window frames look new. Hard place to get in to, worse one to get out of."  
  
He continued, more confidently since Batman hadn't interrupted him "One sentry on guard, standing in the shadows by the steps down to the basement. Has a baseball bat just within reach."  
  
"At least six occupants. Four male, two female, all kids. That's all I can tell so far."  
  
There was no emotion in the Voice, no sign of approval, merely acceptance of the facts as stated. "You missed the wires of the alarm system on the windows, and there are at least eight people inside and two are adults, Ma Graves rarely leaves the house at night, so she's probably in there, and she'd be a fool not to have an inside minder. Other than that it was a good analysis. You might also note that the fire escape looks up to code, but there are removable bars on the access windows. Someone wants to make the place look good when particular people are around, but otherwise is taking no chances on an occupant making a run for it."  
  
"Here's the plan. First I'll deal with Ma Graves and then I'll talk to her.. guests. I want you to stay here and keep watch."  
  
"Yeah, right. Batman, you just managed to make a seventeen stone professional heavy cry. You think you'll do anything but panic a bunch of kids who're probably already scared? Someone their own age would be better, and unless you think you can slip into this outfit and lose two feet in height, that leaves me."  
  
Batman weighed things up, he was already worried about how involved in the case Robin was coming, but his was reconnaissance, and he was right, they might react to Robin better than to Batman.  
  
This time he did sigh "All right, go in, find out what you can about the set-up there, it'll all be useful evidence for when this place is closed down. And find out as much as you can about Brad. Bear in mind they probably don't know he's dead yet." With that he was gone.   
  
Robin selected the window he wanted and swung to it. He was pretty sure there were no trembler alarms on the bars, too easily set off by birds or the like.  
  
Robin noted that, even though he had just said how tough a place it would be to break in to, Batman expected him to be able to get in without any assistance. He had a feeling he had just been flattered, in a typically Batman-esque way. Plus he would probably have to be ready to do some impromptu grief counselling. He wondered if he really was getting in over his head this time, but it was too late to back down. Batman had given him a mission, and on this case, that was enough to be going on with.  
  
The window he had chosen was dark, but adjoined the only lit room on the upper floor. If he moved quietly enough, no one need know he was there until he was ready to show himself. Once hanging onto to the bars with knees, he found he could reach the window through the bars easily enough. It took him less than two minutes to work the lock, once he'd looped the alarm wire that would otherwise have gone off. It took him another minute to remove the single security bar he needed to be able to slip through…  
  
Ma Graves house, Downstairs  
  
Batman took the more obvious route into the house. The guard out front literally had no idea what hit him. It was the work of a moment to find his keys and gain access to the house through the front door. He could, in theory, have taken Robin with him this way, but he felt the boy had been lagging behind in his infiltration techniques lately and this would be a good refresher for him, at least that's what he told himself. Nothing to do with keeping him out of the dealings he was about to have with Ma Graves.  
  
Ma Graves wasn't hard to find, though the overall decor of the place was rather shabby, the main room was well appointed.  
  
Eleanor Graves was, as far an anyone knew, single, and had no family. She had earned the nickname of "Ma" because of how possessive she was of her "children".  
  
She was in her early fifties now, and had a somewhat matronly appearance; solidly built, she kept her greying brown hair pulled up in a severe bun and wore an everyday looking sweater and skirt combination. Her tortoiseshell glasses completed the general air of some typical middle-class pillar of the community, or a rather old-fashioned schoolteacher. It was an act she cultivated as carefully as Profile did his flamboyance, and was about as genuine.  
  
At present she was sitting down at a large desk, running her finger through an appointment calendar on an expensive looking laptop computer as she spoke into the mobile telephone clamped under her ear. She might have been discussing a bake sale or the like, but Batman listened with revulsion.  
  
"…yes, that'll be for a party of five, and you'd like how many? Yes, I can arrange that. Do you want both girls or would you like a boy and a girl? … _Two_ girls and a boy? Of course, for a customer such as yourself we can arrange a small discount. Look on it as a courtesy gesture. And I hate to bring it up, but the money? Excellent, no that's no trouble at all. I look forward to seeing you." Her voice grew harder for a moment, "No, not here, never at my place of work, you know the rules. The Lazy Pines is very amenable to business transactions of this sort, I've always found. Very… accommodating, if you'll pardon the pun. Yes, I'll make the arrangements."   
  
The phone was taken out of her hand in a smooth movement. She heard a voice, _the_ Voice she'd prayed never to hear again, speaking from behind her chair. How the hell had he managed to get behind her without her noticing?   
  
The Voice spoke calmly; "I'm sorry, but Ms Graves is not available right now. She may get back in touch, but that depends on who she uses her one phone call to contact. Who am I? I'm Batman. See you soon."  
  
With that he shut the phone, cutting off the strangled squawk that was coming from the earpiece. After a moments though he put it in a small pouch in his belt. It'd be easy enough to trace the numbers she had called and those who she had dealt with. That, however, was a matter for later, now he had to deal with the woman herself.  
  
He walked around the desk, letting his cloak billow around him for effect. Behind him she could see, laid out on the floor, Frank, her most vicious minder, whom Batman seemed to have dealt with without making a sound. Maybe he did have the supernatural skills he was rumoured to have. Now the urban legend leant forward, pushing himself close to her face, intimidating as only the Batman could be  
  
"So, Ma, you _actually_ thought you could start up business in Gotham again?"  
  
Her fingers clenched and looked worried for a moment, which gave Batman a small measure of satisfaction, but she recovered her composure quickly. She spoke quickly, with a brittle edge to her voice.  
  
"Of course. Those ludicrous charges you brought against me were fairly easy for my lawyer to have thrown out of court, what with no witnesses being prepared to testify against me, and you being strangely absent from court proceedings. Since then I have been a model citizen. I have a sideline as party planner you see, as well as my work with underprivileged children here at my halfway house. What you heard was simply me arranging a surprise party for the son of a friend of mine. He's new in town and doesn't have many friends yet so I thought a few of the children here might like to attend, to make up numbers. Oh, I know it must sound terrible, it's as if I'm hiring out children like commodities, but it really is innocent."  
  
Batman just continued to stare. Tougher opponents than Ma Graves had wilted before that stare but, remarkably, Ma had recovered enough composure as she spoke to risk a small, nasty smile.   
  
"Well, it's what my lawyers will say, and you'd have a very hard time disproving it."  
  
"You think so? Marcus might disagree."  
  
Again the flicker across the eyes, calculating, planning "Marcus? I don't think I know a Marcus."  
  
"Really? How strange, he had SO much to say about you, you being his employer."  
  
"Well, I should imagine that this 'Marcus' individual has a lengthy criminal record, and would hardly be a credible witness against me, who was doing a kindness by offering a former felon a chance to reform by working with me."  
  
"Perhaps, but that brings us to the matter of Brad then.",  
  
"Brad? I've met several Brad's as guests before now, so I'm sure I don't know who you mean. I run an open house here Batman, waifs and strays are always welcome here. I'm well known for it."  
  
"I'm sure you are."  
  
"Even if this Brad did exist, I'm sure he would never risk perjuring himself, especially not against someone who sheltered him out of the kindness of her heart"  
  
"There isn't a hope of that, Brad's dead."  
  
Her eyes widened for a second, perhaps confirming a suspicion she'd already had. Batman didn't delude himself that she might have felt some genuine emotion towards the boy. He could all but hear her think, working out how to turn this to her best advantage.  
  
He hammered his point home.  
  
"He was the body that was found this morning, I'm sure you must have heard the news. I believe the term "grotesquely murdered" was used frequently, but that doesn't begin to describe what happened."  
  
"I did hear about that, a terrible thing, but I'm sure that he couldn't have been a guest here."  
  
"I imagine forensics might say something different. He must have left some clothes and effects here, and that of course means fingerprints, hairs and so on. And some of your other guests would confirm his presence I'm sure."  
  
Again, the nasty smile flitted across her face. "Oh THAT Brad. How terrible, what could have driven him back to his old ways. I tried so hard to steer him back on to the straight and narrow."  
  
"Perhaps the other residents might have a thing or two to say about that."  
  
"They'd never be so foolish as to implicate themselves in such a thing. And asking children to get involved in a sordid murder case, no I wouldn't hear of it."  
  
Batman had to admit she was very good at improvisation, adapting an adequate, and doubtless very convincing, new strategy to handle every new fact she encountered. He could see how his earlier case against her might not have been strong enough, and silently cursed himself for his inefficiency, but just after her arrest there had been that business with the Scarecrow wanting to conduct experiments in fear reactions by sabotaging thrill rides at the Terror Towers Park. He pulled himself back to the here and now, self-recriminations could come later.  
  
"If I were to mention that we suspect a serial killer is involved in this instance, and that some have even suggested that the Corinthian was involved. I think that you might find them willing to talk. He's something of a legend amongst street kids."  
  
"The Corinthian? Scaring children with tales of bogeymen, Batman? Your own legendary aura of fear not enough any more? I'm almost disappointed"  
  
Batman changed the subject, attempting to throw her off balance.  
  
"So tell me Ma, are you registered with Gotham Social Services? Have you been investigated by them?"  
  
"Of course. I've had the appropriate inspections of course. No refuge such as mine could possibly exist without the permits."  
  
"Really? I wonder how much of an inspection this place would actually stand up to? If an audit of records might produce some interesting facts about those inspections, and perhaps the inspectors involved themselves. Never mind the uses to which you put the children who stay here. I wonder who recommends them to you, and vice versa."  
  
Ma looked a little less certain than she had before "I have some friends in Social Services who take an interest in the welfare of children in Gotham. They are happy to entrust them into my care."  
  
"Do they? And yet a moment ago you were saying that this was an open house, with no such cases."  
  
"Well, of course I run an open house, but I have some children recommended to me by Child Welfare."  
  
"..and I'm sure that some of those with business interests in the East Side have something to say about that too."  
  
"Now you're just fishing Batman."  
  
Batman had had enough of this, the woman was frustrating as anyone he'd ever met. She was a small time criminal who was arrogant in her self-confidence, calculating in her scheming, and ugly in her thinking. She believed she had every avenue covered, but Batman always had an edge.  
  
"Ma, your problem is that you keep thinking about your legal defences and the arguments you'd use as if I actually cared. Oh, I use the justice system when it suits me, but I'm not bound by it the way the Police are, you should know that. I have friends on the streets who would ensure that _everyone_ knows your dirty business, and then it won't matter who you know, who your connections are anywhere. People you've never even heard of yet would hate you enough to put you out of business any way they could."  
  
"Now I might even turn a blind eye to a little mob violence in a case like this, but that sets a poor precedent and might harm the children, and so I prefer to utilise the forces of law this time. I will make sure that every possible charge against you is pursued and that a conviction is gained for every single one of them, and the Police, the DA's office, Social Services, all of them, will help me. And if that doesn't work thanks to your high priced lawyers, only then will I really start to come down hard on you."  
  
"Why go to all this trouble when I could just put you out of business with a few phone calls to your criminal element friends? Surely you know what they do to people like you in prison? They say that sex offenders spend every waking minute wishing for death rather than having to live in prison, but believe me, that's nothing compared to how the other inmates would treat _you_. Because of you a child died last night, died a lonely, terrible death, and all to make you money."  
  
"So don't delude yourself about your position, about your "powerful friends", in prison it's a whole different world."   
  
"I've met more criminals than you can imagine, Ma. Never mind the so-called "supervillains" and lunatics, I've known thieves, hookers, madams, murderers, but no matter how different they may be to each other, the sane ones all agree on one thing, in fact it's possibly the only thing they DO all agree on: Those who hurt children are the lowest of the low. And yet you are _so_ much worse. You _profit_ from arranging for other people to rape and molest children, that's so low they'll have to think up a new word for it."  
  
"So yes, Ma, I could make your life hell, and I will do so without the slightest qualm, but that's not half the hell you'll face from the justice system. From your fellow inmates, the guards. I want you to wake every morning scared to leave your cell, to flinch every time you see someone coming towards you for even the most innocent reason. I want you to feel a little of the terror that you brought to those children each and every day for the rest of your life. And if you actually do come out of prison, it won't be over even then, because I'll still be waiting for you there."  
  
Batman advanced on her, reaching for a pouch on his utility belt.  
  
And Ma Graves did something she though she was far too self-controlled to do. She screamed... 


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11  
  
Ma Graves house, Upstairs  
  
Robin slipped through the window, and found he was in what probably passed for a bedroom, two mattresses, a lamp. A small pile of clothes, a battered looking tape deck, and a few books and comics were the only signs of habitation. Such wallpaper as there was was peeling off the walls.  
  
The door was ajar and he peered through it. The room beyond was larger and in it he could see three boys and a girl sitting together, discussing something in urgent tones. Another couple, a boy and a girl, were off to one side, smoking something and giggling slightly, listening to a battered music box play a nursery rhyme, that Dick absently identified as "Ring a Ring a Rosies", slightly off key.  
  
There was one door, a couple of cheap looking throw cushions, and only one light bulb, mounted in an old fashioned ceiling fan that span slowly.  
  
He listened more closely.  
  
"… might be dead."  
  
"Don't say that! No, I still say he took his chance and split."  
  
"He'd be a fool if he did. Besides Ma would have found him by now and we'd all know about it. She's kept us all in tonight, and she's never done that before. She's worried about something. Marcus don't like runners. You remember what he did to you when you tried?"  
  
The other speakerss tone became defensive "I healed didn't I? And Brad's smarter than me, he could have talked his john into giving him a lift to the bus station or something."  
  
"Sh'yeah,, right. You ever yet met a john who'd do you a favour? Most of them are to scared to even look me in the eye when they're doing me, never mind giving me a lift afterwards… 'side's he didn't have nowhere to run to."  
  
Robin felt it was time to make his presence known. He eased the door open and spoke from the doorway, keeping his voice soft.  
  
"I'm afraid Brad didn't run anywhere."  
  
They reacted with shock, well, most of them, the two who were smoking just stared and then started giggling again.  
  
He tried to size the group up. They were a mixed bunch, mostly his age, though one of the girls might be about two years younger (she used make-up to try and look older but it wasn't hard to see through) and one of the boys looked a little older, maybe sixteen. It was hard to tell, their faces shared an empty look, with old, old eyes.  
  
Even their body language was wrong for children their age. The youngest boy sat swathed in a shapeless sweater, knees pulled up tight in front of him, presenting the smallest possible target. He had a large bruise across one side of his face. The giggling girl also had bruises on her arms.  
  
The oldest looking kid, tall and dark skinned stepped forward, he seemed to be the group leader. Alpha male, he'll be the first to speak, and the one to address in return Robin decided.  
  
"An just who the hell are you supposed to be? Colourful Kid? And what do you know about Brad?"  
  
"I'm Robin."  
  
He saw two pairs of eyes widen, but not much recognition. He sighed a little, sometimes a low profile was a burden.  
  
"Robin? I work with Batman. You know? Tall guy? Pointy ears? Wrath of god in a cape?"  
  
THAT got a reaction all right. Robin was very glad he'd talked Batman out of coming in here first, if his name caused terror like this, then the man himself would probably have had them scrabbling to hide under the nearest bed.  
  
The tall kid tried to bluff it out "Says you? You could be anyone."  
  
Robin cocked his head at him, "Yes, says me. Says the guy who just got into this place through a barred second storey window without setting off the alarm or tipping you guys off I was doing it. That should be a bit of a clue, no?"  
  
The older kid sized him up again, before speaking, trying to spot any signs of deception. Clearly Robin passed some sort of test because when the boy spoke again it was to introduce himself "I'm Paul, I look after things " He added this last almost as an afterthought but Robin nodded in acknowledgement.  
  
"And the rest of you are…?"  
  
Paul swivelled round so was at the front of the group again, protecting his own; "That's Jewel, Carlos and Franklin. The happy couple over there are Bobby and Samantha."  
  
Robin nodded to each of them. The pair on the floor waved back, grinning broadly.  
  
"So what were you saying about Brad. What do you know about what happened to him? Did Batman arrest him or something?"  
  
Robin steeled himself, there was no easy way to do this. "No, he didn't. I'm really sorry to be the one to tell you, but Brad is dead. He was killed last night."  
  
Paul didn't look totally surprised, so clearly some rumours had reached him, if not the others. Robin hated to be the one to have to confirm his fears.  
  
"LIAR!"  
  
Jewel sprang at him suddenly, lashing out with her hands and feet, red hair whipping from side to side as she thrashed about. Robin simply held her off whilst she yelled. "He's NOT dead, he's NOT. He wouldn't leave me alone like that. He promised!" She dissolved into tears.   
  
Robin leaned over and took her hands and repeated something he'd heard Commissioner Gordon say more times than he liked to think. "I'm sorry for you loss."   
  
It sounded hollow as he said it, but it seemed to strike a chord in her as she relaxed slightly in his hands. Her head still fell forward, but she nodded numbly.  
  
Paul came over and took Jewel by the hand. Robin let go, this kid knew her better and would be more comfort.   
  
"Jewel and Brad were close." was all Paul said.  
  
Finally Jewel spoke in a whisper, breaking a painful silence. "What happened to him?"  
  
Robin decided that all-out honesty would not help the situation with her there. "Well, we're still putting that together. I'll need to ask you to tell me everything you can about Brad. We don't know very much and it might help us."  
  
"You said he was killed, was he hit by a car or something?"  
  
Robin nodded, but glanced at Jewel before looking straight at Paul as he spoke again  
  
"Yes. It was quick at least."   
  
Paul read the lie in his eyes, but understood.  
  
"Does anyone know what his surname was? No one we've spoken to can tell us."  
  
Jewel looked up with red, swollen eyes "Castle. His name was Brad Castle. He was from Illinois. That's all he'd ever tell me."  
  
"Thank you Jewel. That will help us a lot. Now, we're trying to find the last guy to see Brad. Did anyone see who he left with last night."  
  
The smallest boy, Franklin, looked up, "I saw him go, but I can't remember what the john looked like, and I had my own customers to look out for. We all have to pay rent here." As he spoke he pushed the shapeless sleeves off his hands and absently rubbed his wrists. Robin saw that there were fresh marks on his arms. Rope burns?  
  
Seeing those, and hearing a boy of this age discussing selling himself in such a matter of fact way made Robin both angry and faintly nauseous, but he controlled his stomach and his expression, he was here on a mission.  
  
"Please, it's important, anything you can remember about him. Even little details could help."  
  
"Hey, don't push me! I really don't remember!"  
  
Paul took a step forward as if to warn Robin off pressing further. Robin stepped back, no sense in causing a fight here.   
  
Behind Paul, Franklin kept talking. "It's weird too, 'cause I'm normally good at that stuff, remembering people faces…" He paused for a moment, frowning as he continued "I think I might have dreamed about the man last night, but it wasn't a good dream, so I don't wanna remember it."  
  
"That's okay" The kid was too young to be of much use anyway. He paused and wondered how often other people had said the same about him.  
  
"I should tell you all something. I didn't come here alone."  
  
Instantly the children looked round in terror, as if expecting Batman to materialise from nowhere, just like all the stories said he could.  
  
"No, not up here. Batman's downstairs with Ma. She's going out of business tonight, and it isn't going to be pretty for her."  
  
Their reaction was, perhaps, surprising to Robin. Some of the faces looked shocked. "But what about us?"  
  
"You'll be found other places to live. Better places than this."  
  
A wry "Wanna bet?" came from Carlos.  
  
"They WILL be better than this. You can't have enjoyed doing what she had you do, can you?"  
  
"No, but what makes you think where we'd end up would be any better? Have you ever spent any time in Gotham's Welfare?"  
  
Yes, thought Robin, I have, but I can't let you know that. Besides, he told himself, Bruce had gone to some lengths in using his influence to improve the quality of the Child Welfare Services since Dick had told him the appalling stories about even his brief visit there. Grants had suddenly become available, grants with quality standards attached to them. Certain staff members found themselves suddenly unemployed, and in a couple of cases completely unemployable in any area involving children.   
  
"It can't be as bad as this place."  
  
"Riiiight. At least here I had privacy."  
  
"Privacy?"  
  
"A room of my own?"  
  
Robin looked around him, "Which side of the door is the bolt on? Your side, or hers?"  
  
When he got no answer he pressed on, "And a room Ma Graves wanted rent money you could only get one way, and I'll bet she kept her own set of keys, no? You really believe that this sort of life is better than the Home can give you?"  
  
Paul glared at him furiously, "You don't know anything about this, or about me. I hate what I do, I hate having old guys feel me up and…never mind, but the alternative was being at home and having my m…" the boy stopped short, realising what he was saying and overriding his anger with effort.  
  
Robin took his shoulders and looked him in the eye, the mask didn't help, but there wasn't anything he could do about that, "No, you're right, I don't know anything about you, but I do know that what is going on here is wrong, and at least somewhere else you have a chance."  
  
"Please, all I ask is that you wait here tonight. Batman and I will make sure that Ma Graves can't hurt you, and we'll do everything we can to make sure that things go right for you. We have a LOT of influence."  
  
Robin moved to the room's main door, and after finding it locked set about picking the lock with the tools in his belt. It was a new lock, rather than the rusty old thing he might have expected in a house like this, but then he recalled the gleaming new razor wire on the walls. He was just using a collapsible pry bar to lever the deadbolt on the other side up when he heard a faint scream from downstairs, a female scream.  
  
"I have to go check in with Batman, it sounds like he's finishing up with Ma. Stay here and I'll be back in a minute." He caught Paul making a move to follow him and shook his head.  
  
"Stay here with them Paul. Batman should have handled everything but I'd rather we had someone here keeping an eye on things."  
  
To the surprise of both of them, Paul stepped back and nodded.  
  
Robin muttered to himself as he left the room "The Boy Wonder giving orders and they get followed? How often will THAT ever happen?" 


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12  
  
Ma Graves house, downstairs  
  
Robin met Batman in the hall. Batman had a look like thunder on his face, even moreso than usual.  
  
"How did it go?"  
  
"It went."  
  
Okay, thought Robin, no more details forthcoming there then. He thought about upstairs, and realised that might be for the best.  
  
Batman filled him in on the usual cover story. "We were never here. Ma Graves disturbed a burglar breaking into her private safe. He tied her to a chair, but dropped a great many private files on the floor all around her, before fleeing, most careless of him. He even left some still in the safe. When the Police come to answer the 911 call she's about to make…" He held up the cellphone he'd taken from her " …they'll find enough incriminating evidence to keep the DA happy for a long time. The children?"  
  
"Upstairs, scared as hell and in serious need of some real care, I think.."  
  
They were interrupted by a barely audible buzzing from their belt radios, barely audible that was unless you knew to listen for it. The computer in the Batcave was hooke dup to a police scanner and certain keywords triggered a signal to both of them.  
  
Batman fed the signal through the external speaker module of his belt. "…. repeat a code-advanced-operative in progress. City Hall apparently inverted, repeat inverted, streets impassable due to…." The despatcher gave up trying to sound detached and professional "Oh, damned if we know why, just looks like all the roads have been rerouted back on themsleves. Holograms, evil sorceror, Mirror Master, take your pick!" It took a certain kind of mindset to be a dispassionate dispatcher in Gotham, This one was clearly on the learning curve.  
  
Batman frowned "The Firefly escaped custody this afternoon, sounds like his sort of insanity."  
  
Robin recalled the Firefly from a few months back, Garfield Lynns. Not a desperately dangerous criminal in his own right, but his knowledge of optics and illusions, coupled with the outlandish holograms his home made "prism-belt" could create, made him a serious nuisance. Not a killer, mercifully, but someone who could cause massive chaos if the mood took him.  
  
"Should we check on it? Even if… 3.30am is a bit of a weird time to start your public crime spree."  
  
Batman thought for a moment. "No, I'll. You stay here and keep an eye on the children until social services and the Police get here. Ma Graves is out of action, but it's possible that one of her associates might show up for an inspection, and I don't want the children left at risk. Stay out of sight unless you have to, us being here officially could prejudice the Police case against Graves."  
  
Robin could see the logic in that, and didn't feel like he was being sidelined. It wasn't like Firefly really needed the two of them to deal with him.  
  
"Lynn's shouldn't take long to sort out, quite possibly the Police will manage it by themselves. I'll be back if the authorities haven't shown up by then."  
  
"The usual checks?"  
  
Batman nodded "15 minutes, random, plus one response"  
  
Robin nodded in reply. "Signal test?"  
  
Batman confirmed and pushed a stud on his belt twice. Robin belt radio buzzed twice, and he pressed the matching stud on his own belt three times, which caused Batman's belt to buzz in return.   
  
It was a new system of contact they were trying. Every 15 minutes, Batman would send a random series of pulses to Robin's belt, and he would reply. Any failure to signal or reply on either side and they'd check in on each other formally. It had saved time and distraction for both of them, so far.  
  
With that Batman turned and was gone. Robin spoke to the post he'd been occupying a moment ago "Well, you take care Batman… Why thank you, I will too."   
  
Anyone else might have been annoyed at Batman's lack of a farewell gesture, but Robin knew him better than that. He didn't tell Robin to take care because he knew he would. If he wasn't 100% certain of that he would never have taken him on as a partner and certainly wouldn't leave him alone on sentry duty.  
  
He stayed downstairs only long enough to check that the guard outside wasn't likely to wake up anytime soon, and that the one laid out in the downstairs hall was secured. Then he poked his head around the door of the main study. He saw a red faced Ma Graves tethered to a chair with a long length of de-cel cable, a wad of papers stuffed in her mouth. She was mumbling furiously through the makeshift gag, and when she caught sight of Robin it only got louder. He waved in as annoying a manner as he could and left her there. If he had stayed he might have felt tempted for a moment of on the spot revenge for what she had done to the kids upstairs, but if Batman could resist that impulse, then so could he.  
  
When he got back upstairs he explained the situation to the children.  
  
"So we've got a little time before the rest of the good guys" He caught Paul's expression, "… and they _are_ the good guys believe me, show up. Until then, I'm babysitting… In a purely honorary capacity of course."  
  
There was a moment of awkward silence. Robin sat himself on the dresser near the door, so he could see out into the hall, and listen for any unusual noises, and still keep an eye on his charges.  
  
"So we told us about ourselves. Why don't you tell us about you?" asked Franklin.  
  
"There's not really a lot I can tell you. Bataman's rules."  
  
"Well, you're from Gotham at least aren't you?"  
  
"What makes you say that?"  
  
"Your accent."  
  
"Well, l'il lady, now how do you know what ma real voice sounds like?"  
  
A circus boy who lives in no town except a travelling one made of canvas and caravans can pick up any number of tricks if he pays attention. Dick had had the double advantage of both occasionally being babysat by "The Astounding Gretsky, Man of a Thousand and One Voices" and also spending time with a trained voice coach like Alfred. It had come in especially handy when he was creating his Robin persona, Bruce and Batman had very different voices, but both were clearly from Gotham. Dick and Robin had the same voice, but completely different accents, and only Robin was from Gotham. Dick used his original accent, as it reminded him of his parents, and he felt sounded better than the somewhat nasal tones of a native Gothamite.  
  
At least his John Wayne impression got a laugh, and from the sound of it, it wasn't a sound his audience made often. "What sort of child forgets how to laugh?" Robin wondered to himself.  
  
"And what about that costume of yours then?" Paul asked, not quite baiting him, but certainly looking far an opportunity to reassert his role as group leader.  
  
Robin sighed, this was another thing he couldn't get used to about city folk. Growing up in the circus meant that he was used to wearing clothes that others might find odd, but he hadn't reckoned on it being such an obsession with them all after his almost-public debut as Robin.  
  
"Well, put it this way, you see me wearing this, what do you think?"  
  
"I think, what a dumb looking costume."  
  
"Okay, sure you do, and you're so busy making fun of it that…" From his sitting position, Robin did a forward flip over Paul's shoulders, twisting as he landed to catch him in an arm-lock in less time than it took to blink "… you don't even realise how badly you've underestimated me. See, it worked again."   
  
He released Paul, who attempted to recover his already wounded dignity by ignoring him. Robin did a small bow to the others before Paul had recovered enough to turn back round, but tried not to make too big a deal about it.  
  
"You stand out like a traffic signal though." This came from Carlos, who had just sat staring at him up until now.  
  
"In here I do, but in the dark, it's not much easier to see than Batman's, and with all the neon around the rooftops, a dark outfit can stand out more some of the time. And I just have to move quicker."  
  
"The cape then, what if someone grabs you by the cape."  
  
Robin grinned at that. "Try it then."  
  
With that invitation, Carlos grabbed at the bottom of Robin's cape. He waited to see what Robin would do, but instead of darting away, Robin just stood there.  
  
"See?"   
  
"See what? You didn't move."  
  
"No, but you did. You see, if you can reach the cape, then I know you're close enough to me for me to hurt you."  
  
Carlos looked down and saw that Robin's boot was less than an inch away from his kneecap. He gulped and let go of the cape very carefully, his eyes wide.  
  
"Never judge a book by it's cover Carlos."  
Carlos looked him up and down again, and was about to say something when Robin forestalled him.  
  
"And before anyone says anything, not a single word about the boots. They have a sentimental value to me, and that's all I'll say."   
  
Somehow he had a feeling that saying "My Mom made them for me for the new circus routine she never lived to see me perform" would not win him many points either with his audience, or with Bruce, though for different reasons.  
  
"Say, can you teach me some of those moves?" Franklin asked from spot on the floor he hadn't shifted from since Robin had first come into the room.  
  
"I don't think I would have the time, but there's probably a class down the Y you could go to."  
  
He saw the crestfallen looks on a couple of the faces.  
  
"Well, I might be able to set a bit of time aside. But it won't be here. I can arrange to drop by the Home perhaps, see if you guys are okay, that sort of thing."  
  
"We can take care of ourselves Wonder Boy." Paul was being nonchalant  
  
"Speak for yourself Paul" came the rather annoyed voice of Franklin, "I know you look out for me, but I want to be able to look out for me too!."  
  
His belt gave a soft beeping sound, Batman checking in right on schedule, and he triggered the requisite reply. By the time he turned his full attention to his charges again, there was a minor argument breaking out between Paul and Franklin, with Jewel telling them both to be quiet… and the dope smokers were now both snoring loudly and it was getting on his own nerves..  
  
I hope that Social Services get here soon, thought Robin, I only have enough sleeping gas capsules for three!  
  
- - - - 


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13  
  
Outside Ma Graves  
  
The Corinthian was finishing his third cigarette, slouched against the wall opposite Ma Graves residence, again cloaked against casual observation, when he heard the first scream. Nonchalantly he sauntered over and into the house, secure in his invisibility.   
  
He had heard the end of Batman's interrogation and had been, once again, impressed by him.   
  
He had also listened to the conversation between Batman and Robin in the main hall, and had not believed his good fortune that Batman was going to leave the boy alone with no backup, at least until the Police arrived, and it sounded as if there was enough confusion downtown to make that a less than likely prospect any time soon.  
  
He pondered what course of action to take. He really hadn't intended to kill anyone tonight, he'd even turned down that nice waiter as an option, but things were picking up speed here and it needed a push.  
  
After Batman left, the Corinthian followed Robin upstairs, and listened in on his conversation with the kids. He was impressed by him too, though in a different way entirely. Seemingly without realising it, the kid was a born leader, and with as overwhelming a role model as Batman, that can't have been an easy skill to acquire. Still, it wouldn't serve him much use in the short time he had left to him. The Corinthian believed in being a realist about such matters.  
  
He finally decided on his course of action, and went back downstairs. There he casually and silently slit the throat of the minder in the main hall, before going back outside and doing the same for the guard who was still slumbering. Finally he dropped his dreamlike status to become as human as he ever allowed himself to be and then knocked on the front door. Role play was such fun!  
  
- - - -   
  
"I heard something" said Franklin.  
  
So had Robin, and it put him on instant alert. Waving the rest of the kids to be quiet he crept closer to the door.  
  
Robin was sure this time, there was a knocking at the door. It might be the Police, coming in without sirens to prevent alarming nearby residents, or it could be a trick, to try and lure someone down to let one of Ma's cronies in without causing any fuss. Either way it had to be checked out.  
  
"Stay here, no matter what. I'll check it out, and don't worry, I won't let anything bad happen to you." He directed this especially at Franklin who seemed even more unsettled than the rest of them.  
  
With that last promise, he slipped into the hall and over to the staircase. There was nobody visible, but the main door was no slightly ajar.  
  
He quickly moved down the stairs. Whoever it was might well have headed towards the office where Ma was.  
  
The he spotted the figure in the hallway, a man dressed casually all in white, with short cropped white hair and dark glasses. This last seemed a bit incongruous, but he'd seen weirder.  
  
Robin pulled his torch out and shone it in the newcomers face, reaching for a batarang at the same time.  
  
"Who are you and what do you want?"  
  
The man put his hands up in front of his face, as if despite the glasses, the torch was dazzling him. "Hey, I knocked, no one answered. The door wasn't locked so I came in and tried to find a light switch."  
  
"That doesn't answer my question, who are you and what do you want?"  
  
"Say, are you one of the kids I was told about?"  
  
"What kids might those be?" His reply had been vague enough to be interpreted either way, but he didn't seem to be armed at least.  
  
"The kids my boss at Gotham Social Services called me out of bed at twenty to four in the freaking morning to come and check up on. My names Nathan, Nathan Corey, from Juvie Division. They said there'd been some sort of big fuss here, and I live a couple of blocks away so they sent me to check it out."  
  
"Do you have any formal ID with you?"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Come on, all Social Workers in Gotham carry ID. Let's see yours."   
  
The figure seemed to decide that enough was enough. He straightened up and with a blur, vanished from view.  
  
Robin had seen enough strange things in his time not to be too freaked out, vanishing social workers were the least of his experiences, but it still disturbed him. He swung the light around, but there was no sign of the intruder. He was reaching for his belt radio when he felt the rush of air that preceded a blow to the back of his head. He felt himself start to fall, something behind him catch him, and then he didn't feel very much of anything for some considerable time….  
  
- - - - -  
  
The Corinthian leant over the crumpled form of Robin and checked for a pulse. It was there, strong and healthy. It had a been a straightforward strike to the right nerve cluster and the boy would recover fully within a few hours. He felt somehow unsatisfied that he had chosen to knock him out whilst in his more dreamlike form, but his incessant questions were starting to annoy him.  
  
Looking down at the main reason he had come out tonight, the Corinthian felt the mixture of desire and self-control again.   
  
  
He picked the boy up and carried him up the stairs, looking he imagined, like something out of a, particularly stylish, horror film.   
  
He looked around, saw that staircase was made of solid oak, and looked like the heaviest, most solid item anywhere around. He propped Robin up against it.  
  
He was sure the boy had been fast enough to sense the blow, and had even started to roll with it, an impressive feat of reflexes in itself, so he had to make extra sure he wouldn't wake up too soon.  
  
He leaned close and touched the Robin's temples with his fingers. The Corinthian knew that dreams were not his to craft, such power belonged only to his creator, but he could influence them a little. Simple proximity was usually enough to trigger nightmares in the right sort of mind, but there was no harm in double-checking. With that he used the invisible fingers that all Nightmares had. He felt the unconscious mind within the boy and gently but firmly pushed it deeper into the realm of the Dreaming, deeper than he would normally ever go, but not so deep that he would be rendered comatose.   
  
The Corinthian smiled as he looked at the sleeping figure, "I'd say sweet dreams, but that's not really my thing."  
  
As he turned to the room where the children were he met two of the residents coming the other way, a red haired girl and a Hispanic looking boy. Both looked scared, but determined enough to make a break for it if they could.  
  
The Corinthian smiled charmingly "Two little mice leaving the hole? When I've just arrived? That's not very nice is it? Not very polite?"  
  
They hesitated a mere second, and then tried to run past him on either side. With his inhuman speed he had time to move back to the top of the stairs and block their way. Their own momentum carried them right into his arms and he caught both of them around the waist.  
  
At the top of a staircase the advantage should have been theirs, his balance should have been thrown off and they had gravity working on their side, but it seemed to make no matter to him, which indeed it didn't.  
  
He carried them with little apparent effort, showing total disregard for their kicking and yelling.  
  
A couple of other faces peered round the door of the room he had seen them in earlier. When they saw what was going on they vanished back again, perhaps hoping to barricade the door, but at the same time reluctant to do so whilst their friends were outside. Like that would make any difference in the long run.  
  
When he got to the door he pushed it open with his foot, He could feel too much weight on the side of the door, so they must have managed to push the dresser in the front of it. He just kept pushing and the door was forced open.  
  
Once it was wide enough he walked in, throwing his burdens into the room, where they landed heavily. He found six pairs of eyes staring out at him in stark terror. An audience was a rare treat and he wondered if they would ever truly appreciate what was about to happen. Unlikely with humans, but you never knew!  
  
One of them was brave enough to make a stand, a tall boy with dark brown eyes and a proud, defiant glare. From the way he moved this was clearly the self-appointed leader of this little flock. He would most definitely be the last to go, the Corinthian decided, frustration and failure added such a delicate piquancy, then he looked again, and saw the eyes did not carry the essence he always looked for. A shame that, but it would be too much to hope that all his new friends would have it. The smallest one definitely did, he was in touch with his dreams enough to instantly recognise the Corinthian for what he truly was, and that was a special gift, a special, _delicious_ gift.  
  
He was not used to dealing with quite so many targets at one time in this environment. He'd never done more that two at a time but he felt no qualms about that in this regard. Gotham truly was encouraging him to be more than he had been before!  
  
If he had found one recurring problem in his mission, it was that strong rope was such a burden to carry, it was heavy, bulky and hard to conceal. He had, some years before, found that humans, those marvellously inventive humans, had developed something which solved his problems. From his pocket he produced the first of the several reels of high-tensile fishing line he always carried. It lacked the traditional feel that rope had, but it was strong, light, and he was always ready to move with the times.  
  
He shut the door behind him and moved into the room. Moving with his superhuman speed he picked the girls up and pushed them into one of the adjoining rooms, shutting the door so hard behind him that it jammed in the frame.  
  
He turned back to his REAL interest.   
  
"Hi boys, I'm your new best friend and we're all going to play a little game together. Now let's introduce ourselves, I'm the Corinthian, who wants to be first?"  
  
The screaming started shortly thereafter…  
  
Twelve minutes and fourteens seconds later he re-emerged from the room, shutting the door carefully behind him so as to keep the sounds that came from within contained, and went over to where Robin lay where he had been laid. Listening closely, the Corinthian heard four beeps come from the belt. Smiling at such military precision, the Corinthian reached forward and pushed the response stud five times.  
  
He turned to go and paused, turning back to kneel down next to Robin. He fished inside the belt that he had seen Robin produce his batarangs from earlier, and amongst some peculiar looking items he wasn't about to touch if he could avoid it, found a pair of handcuffs with a bat motif, he;d seen similar ones used to secure the random criminals Batman had stopped earlier.  
  
The very idea of "bat"-cuffs seemed a little excessive to the Corinthian, but to each their own he supposed. He quickly secured Robins wrists behind the top banister, pausing only to remove a couple of items first. "That's been bugging me. It just didn't feel right, no matter how unconscious you are."  
  
He continued to check the belt though, and then he found the tightly coiled cable inside the belt pouch at the back of the belt. He took it out and examined it. It made his fishing line look like candy-floss, and there was enough of it to add a certain little extra to his masterpiece.  
  
And then he had an even better idea, and popped downstairs.  
  
A minute later he walked back to the room, carrying a new burden and calling out. "Hey guys, NEW GAME! Isn't that great news?" The only response before the door swung shut was a whimpering sound.  
  
- - - - - 


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14  
  
Ma Graves place - Same Night  
  
The police arrived at 0425 after an anonymous phone call.  
  
There was a dead body hidden just beside the stairs leading to the front door. He seemed to have been knocked unconscious and then had his throat slit. There was a second body in a similar situation in the main hall. The downstairs was otherwise deserted, and the armed team crept slowly up the stairs.   
  
They were astonished to see, handcuffed to the top banister, a brightly clad figure who they all knew by reputation, and who a few had actually met in person. He seemed to be uninjured, but they only had time to ensure that he had a pulse before moving on the check the rest of the floor.  
  
There was only one closed door on the floor, and it took them almost no time to check that the rest of the floor was deserted. Having done so they cautiously opened the door and looked in.   
  
What they saw in that room led them to call for all the backup they could find, and an imperative summons to James Gordon.  
  
It would ultimately lead to three requests for early retirement, and one officer, a recovering alcoholic, breaking her pledge for the first time in eight years. There would also be a sharp increase in requests to see the already overworked Psych team that GCPD kept on retainer, and visits to the nearest relevant place of worship for those who were so inclined. It would also result in every officer who was a parent hugging their children a little tighter that night, and consider, yet again, applying for a transfer to any other city than this godforsaken place.  
  
What they saw was this;  
  
Ma Graves sat bound to a chair in the middle of the room. She was staring wildly around her, making small incomprehensible sounds. When she happened to look at the cops in the doorway they could see nothing except madness behind her eyes.   
  
Dancing around her in endless circles were the bodies of four teenage boys, in various stages of undress.  
  
Not only had their eyes been cut out in the now almost familiar manner, but hooks had been inserted into each of the empty sockets. Each was attached to a length of fishing line which led up to the old-fashioned fan in the middle of the room. It was the slow rotation of this that kept the bodies circling.  
  
Each boy was bound by the wrist to those on either side, forming a ring. Shadows like paper dolls were cast on the walls by the single light bulb that hung down from the fan. There was a break in the ring though, and hanging from the fifth blade of the fan were two hooks where a fifth victim would have hung, those hooks were inserted through the eyeholes of a green domino mask. The boys on either side of the gap, one a black kid of about 15, the other the smallest and youngest of them had their wrists tied to empty green gauntlets, which dangled down limply.  
  
A music box on the dresser was playing "Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush" repeatedly. There was a row of eight eyeballs, four damaged, four whole in front of the musicbox, all turned to observe the tableau, as it were.  
  
In one of the small rooms beyond they found two young girls in deep hysterical shock. One could not stop crying and the other seemed to be totally catatonic. Both had to be strongly sedated before they could be taken out as even moving towards the door caused severe reaction. The paraedic team could certainly sympathise with them.  
  
One incident in particular is perhaps more indicative of the horror than anything else: The one paperazzi who was desperate enough to sneak into the house to take a picture of the rumoured "New Circle of Hell" was too appalled by his first view to do anything other than gape, his mouth trying to form words but failing, his camera hanging forgotten around his neck. Moments later he was escorted off premises just in time to throw up all over the pavement.  
  
Batman arrived at 0441, having dealt with the Firefly with what a couple of on the spot officers reported seemed to be a singularly definite brutality, "It's weird, but he looked more like my boyfriend does when he's missed an appointment than anything else… times about a hundred, of course… All I can say is, I'm glad I wasn't the guy who held him up."  
  
- - - - -   
  
Robin roused himself when the smelling salts were waved under his nose for the third time. The dark things in his dreams that had been clawing at him turned out to be a paramedic checking his vital signs.  
  
"I can't check his pupils with that mask on." He felt someone reach for it, and since for some reason his hands didn't seem to want to move he had to make do with jerking his head away.  
  
"No! Leave it! I'll be fine."   
  
As his vison cleared he was surprised to find himself surrounded by cops and medics, not the usual surroundings he woke up to after being knocked out He tried to smile for them to show he was unhurt "It's okay, I have MediCare if you're worried." None of the faces betrayed any sign of humour, and a couple were scowling at him, like "how dare he try to lighten the mood", not as good as Batman's version of the same expression, but similar enough to be recognizable.  
  
"Oh god, what's happened?" When no one would reply he moved his wrists and found they were cuffed behind something. From the way he was sitting he guessed it was a pillar or banister rod or something of that sort. A moment's work with his fingers told him that someone had used the Batcuffs on him. He grimaced but was relieved in a way. This he could handle.  
  
Batman would never design a trap he couldn't get out of and the cuffs were one example of this philosophy. They were constructed like a puzzle box, with a series of pressure points around the edges of the cuffs that, if pressed the precisely the right way in the correct sequence would release the catch instantly. It had taken the Riddler, in field-testing, 32 minutes to figure out the nature of the trick, which meant in all liklihood they'd be able to hold anyone else for days.  
  
Having released himself, and started massaging his numb wrists, he realised that his gloves were missing. He didn't have much time to worry about the possible ramifications of this before he decided to find out what was going on. He started to stand up when a medic spoke in a restrained tone.  
  
"No kid, stay where you are for a few minutes, there's nothing you want to see here anyway, believe me." He continued in a bare whisper "15 years Ambulance Services in Gotham and I never seen anything like that. Thank the gods"  
  
Now really worried Robin stood up, throwing off the hands holding him back. He felt dizzy and confused about what the last thing he remembered before being knocked out… had he been knocked out? It felt hazy, more like he'd been sleeping, but he wouldn't be sleeping while he was on… Oh dear God… he'd been on sentry duty looking after…  
  
As he forced his way though the crowd of uniforms, all worn by people taller than he was, blocking any sight he might have had a dark shape moved to intercept. "No Robin, you don't need to see this."   
  
He didn't even ask why Batman was there and not looking after him, something serious might have done.  
  
"No, I have to see."  
  
"There's nothing that you could have done."  
  
Robin ducked under Batman's arm and caught a glimpse of the room beyond the doorway. A doorway that might have led into a different world for all the connection he felt with it. It was an abstract image, it couldn't be real, it had to be…  
  
And with that almost disjointed thought he turned away and started to vomit violently, everything he'd eaten that day and then dry heaves convulsing him, totally.  
  
His last coherent memory was of Gordon's voice, sounding more angry than he could recall "Dear God, what are you thinking him letting him see this? Get him away from here NOW"  
  
The rest of the night was a blur… 


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15 - Gotham City Hall - 55 minutes earlier  
Batman was already annoyed by the events of the evening, and this latest incident was doing nothing for his mood.  
  
It wasn't just that the Firefly was irritating, but that he suffered from chronic delusions of adequacy. If he actually utilised his skills in a non-criminal way, he'd probably have been a vastly wealthy man by now, with all the respect he could want, but he'd let some petty setback in the past drive him past the point of rationality. At least he wasn't a dedicated killer, but people had been hurt in the chaos his holograms and light weapons created in the past, and had tried to kill, or drive insane, both Batman and Robin before.  
  
This time around Lynn's plan was simple, approaching the simplistic, but with potentially serious consequences. From the top of one of Gotham's Twin Towers, the highest vantage points in the city, he was destabilising downtown by distorting the appearance of the surrounding area in such a way that nothing was where is seemed to be. He'd set the illusion going before daybreak to create maximum confusion. In the air above the East Tower, Batman could see the etched in light fifty feet tall, on a floating checked background, the words "Welcome to my Nightmare"  
  
Pausing at the highest point he could find on the edge of the affected area, Batman let his eyes range over the area trying to make sense of it all.  
  
Firefly was powerful, but he wasn't THAT powerful. There had to be a logic to his holograms, an algorithm of some sort, allowing him to create the disruption as simply as possible.   
  
Batman knew the city inside out and top to bottom, so he should be able to deduce it from first principles. A map would have been useful, but he'd never needed to carry one before so would have to get by without for now. He squatted own on the edge of the roof and started to concentrate. Part of him wanted to go straight into the maze of illusions and deal with Firefly immediately, but he knew that the time would be better spent outthinking him.   
  
Just in case, he tried switching his mask over to an experimental infra red system that WayneTech had been working on for months, but as he had suspected, the heat from the distortion field made the outlines of things too blurry to be trusted. He sighed and went back to normal vision, there wouldn't be any shortcuts with this case.  
  
The result was like a nightmarish Escher print, buildings were seemingly in the wrong place, some were on floating on their side, or hung upside down.   
  
It was insane, like an earthquake had hit the city and moved everything around, or toppled it completely; City Hall was indeed, not only upside down, but far from where it should be. The imposing steeple of St Joseph's Cathedral was far to the left of its real location, and the odd, triangular National Periodicals building, was lying on it's side, far closer to where he was standing than was right. The Third Reserve Bank was now, if Batman's estimations were correct, apparently floating in the middle of the Gotham River.  
  
In the meantime Batman could hear the distracting, mournful wail of several Police Cars and a couple of fire engines which were completely confused by their surroundings. Batman hoped that their emergencies weren't too serious, as it would be too much to expect him NOT to go and assist, but if he went into the field of distortion he might be rendered worse than useless, he'd be helpless and useless.  
  
He called up the landmarks he knew in his head, creating a sort of internal map. He has committed the skyline to memory from numerous angles, but this was a new application of his skills. From there he started to link what he could see, with what he knew he should see.   
  
A small "ping" in his cowls earpiece almost caused him to lose his concentrations completely, but rather than waste time being irritated he pressed the stud on his belt that sent the signal to Robin. Immediately he received the correct reply from Robin's transmitter. He let out a small breath, which he wouldn't have been able to tell you, or at least would have denied, he'd been holding. While most of his mind was occupied with the task in hand, a small part was, as always, concerned about his protégé. He reassured himself with the knowledge that Robin was more than capable of looking after the children at Grave's place until the Police could get there, and if a few of Ma's "friends" showed up, then he had every confidence in Robin to either deal with them himself, or at least get the children to safety until he himself could return, or the police showed up.  
  
He returned to the task in hand. It was three minutes later that that he saw it, the pattern of misplaced blocks of space that the Firefly had created. Batman groaned slightly, the arrogance of Lynn's nature had won through again. He'd HAD to advertise it in his projected announcement and the chessboard background "Welcome to my Nightmare", or in this case "Knight-mare"; Taking an area of city blocks eight to a side, Lynns had moved each block two blocks in one direction and then a single block at right angles, like the moves of a Knight in chess, though he also took the opportunity to twist some of them horizontally or vertically in the process, just to confuse matters further.  
  
The frustrating part of the deduction was that Robin might well have spotted it faster. The boy's passion for puns (Which he seemed to be, mercifully, easing up on somewhat as he grew older) meant he was naturally adept at the twisted wordplay so many self styled "super-villains" seemed to find clever. In Batman's personal opinion, such behaviour in a fourteen year old was distracting, but allowable in strict moderation, but in an adult it was just... depressing.  
  
Robin would probably have suggested it as a throwaway comment to cut through some of the tension he seemed to believe the Batman persona created, but it would have been enough for Batman to look at it in that way from the outset. Precious minutes could have been saved.  
  
Still, Batman took extra time to map out the only logical sequence of positions that would move the landmarks he could identify to their current position, before setting out. He couldn't assume anything, and it would be suicide to try. Only when he was confident he had it worked out did his send his grapnel line into the (seemingly) empty sky, where it caught on an invisible gargoyle that he knew SHOULD be there.   
  
He had considered just swinging down to the ground and jogging to the Tower, but looking at the way the gridlock was piling up, even at this early hour, it would be too much to trust in the reflexes of every motorist who saw him materialise out of the ether to avoid hitting him.   
  
It was a truly unsettling experience swinging through the city he knew like the back of his hand, with everything in the wrong location. His ropes seemed to be hanging in mid air, and he had to actively steel himself when swinging through seemingly solid buildings, which his eyes told him were there, but his sense of logic knew could not be. As it was he kept to the route of one of the lower roof patrols, just in case, however absolutely certain he was of the accuracy of his route.  
  
So it took him a good deal longer than usual to get to the environs of the East Tower. Seemingly scaling empty air, Batman arrived above what appeared to be a small delicatessen that was floating over 200 feet in the air, but which was actually the top of the roof of the West Tower. He could clearly see Firefly standing there in his rather ridiculous costume. He was watching the events in an array of monitors and was laughing hysterically.  
  
Tuning the police scanner in his earpiece, Batman was listening to reports of injuries from those few security guards and Police who had been inside the Tower when the distortion had hit. Somehow Lynns had been able to make the down stairs inside look like an up stairs, and the officers who had tried to climb, had found themselves falling down an entire flight of stairs instead.  
  
The Firefly's bulky prisma-belt, which was usually lined with optical devices, reflecting gadgets and lighting gimmicks had had most of its components cannibalised and had wires leading out from it to a large console in front of him, this in turn was attached to a series of satellite dishes, communications laser arrays and the components from the belt. The positions and strange cutaways between the various cables and wires was a giveaway that there was a smaller distortion field covering this roof too.  
  
As he didn't know how the arrangement of electronics should look, Batman wasn't able to deduce the proper pattern. He didn't trust Lynns to be where he appeared to be either.  
  
Just in case he tried the infra red again, but if anything here the heat distortion, added to the heat the equipment was generating, made gauging positions even worse. Lynns must be using an incredible amount of electricity to power all this equipment.   
  
This much power.... That might be the clue he needed... Batman dredged up from his memory what he could recall of the Twin Towers roof plans from the time he'd had to dismantle a giant, electrified metal puzzle that the Riddler had slung between the Towers. The Mayor, Commissioner Gordon and Robin had all been shackled inside it, ready to be electrocuted if Batman failed, or fall hundreds of feet to the ground below if he succeeded. Whilst Batman could remember every move he'd need to make to release them safely, the layout of the roof was another matter, it hadn't seemed that important then, but he could recall the basics surely...  
  
He _was_ sure that the main layout of the roof had not altered since then, after all, a roof wasn't remodelled that often. So if the corners of the roof were _there_.... And the radio mast was.. _there_.... then the main junction box HAD to be... _there_! He lookeda round through the mosaic of illusion and saw that the junction box was indeed there, with heavy cables snaking out of it. The Riddler had had the sense to protect the electrical supply to his trap, but from what Batman could see, Lynns had not, which was fine with him.  
  
As he thought this through, Batman was reached for a batarangs and also for one of the small explosive charges he always carried, he fitted them together without even thinking. He took a moment to calculate the wind speed and direction and, just to be sure, switched back to infrared for a moment. He drew in a breath, the heat signature of the whole building was still blocking any other input, but it about a foot to the left of where the walls appeared to be, and so that must mean there was yet another distortion field in place.   
  
Taking less than a second to adjust for this, Batman let fly with the batarang, a movement that looked simple and elegant, and belied the years of training he'd put into developing the skill.  
  
A few seconds later he was rewarded with a small explosion from the roof opposite, and with a spectacular shattering sound, the world seemed to fall apart around everyone within the distortion field. For a few seconds left was down, up was forward and right was somewhere behind them, it was like a kaleidoscope exploding. But then the images faded and everything on the city was the way it should be. The images of buildings shimmered back to their proper place, and the pattern of streets and roads was restored to normal. The Tower rotated back into it's proper position, and juddered back into it's rightful place.  
  
As he was about to leap forward, there came the small ping in his earpiece again, and Batman sent out another signal to Robin. This time there was no answering signal, not within five seconds, and not within fifteen, the maximum delay Batman would permit. The police scanner feed into his earpiece, which had been programmed to report any message which included Ma Grave's address had not indicated that the Police were there yet, so that could only mean trouble.  
  
Resisting the urge to curse under his breath Batman swung over onto the roof of the East Tower. He didn't need the distraction of Firefly right now, but likewise he didn't need the distraction that something might be up with Robin or the children. Prioritising could be agonising at times.  
  
As soon as he landed on the roof, he was confronted by an enraged Firefly who was standing over the remains of the control board of his device. Sparks flared and smoke billowed from junction boxes and cables. The explosion from the junction box had not only stopped the illusions, but had also short-circuited the whole set up.  
  
"How dare you interfere Batman! How dare you! I was simply...."  
  
He didn't have much time to say any more as a roundhouse punch sent him reeling backwards. Unfortunately it sent him spinning backwards into a pile of components. In a moment he had grabbed a couple of his own pieces of equipment and had slotted them into place. What resulted was a gun shaped device with some sort of prism at the front, which he pointed with a shaky hand towards Batman.  
  
"I don't think I can let you do that again, Batm..."  
  
There was another punch which Lynns hadn't even seen coming, followed by a blow to his wrist that numbed his nerves. Batman seemed to have moved in to strike without actually taking a step. Firefly lurched back again, and the gun went off wildly as it fell from his suddenly paralysed fingers, sending a rainbow beam of fiery energy up into the air, where it fizzled for a second before dissipating.  
  
Batman heard the door to the roof open, and he whirled in case it was a couple of Firefly's men, assuming he had any this time around. As soon as he saw that they were GCPD officers, he turned his attention back the matters in hand.  
  
Not even wanting to hear Lynns complain or boast any more, Batman took him down with a straightforward boxing combination. Perhaps he used a little more force than would normally be necessary, but he was prepared to give himself the benefit of the doubt.  
  
As soon as he handed the Firefly over to the Police, Batman was on the move again. Normally he'd stay and help sort out the chaos that the Firefly had caused, but he had other, more urgent, matters to attend to, his attempt to raise Robin on the ordinary radio link had had no better result than the belt signal. Something was seriously wrong, and he had to find out what it was. 


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16 - The Chocolate Box District. Gotham City  
As he swung away, the part of Batman's mind that wasn't Bruce Wayne, the part that wasn't worrying itself over what might have happened to the boy he looked upon as his son, considered the strange dichotomy of Gotham; On the one hand there were the common crimes, the ordinary everyday crimes that happened in every city on Earth, muggings, robberies, criminal assaults, gang fights and car theft.  
  
On the other hand there were the strange crimes, ranging from the absurd to the unspeakable. These were the ones that the gaudily dressed madmen and criminals revelled in.  
  
At first glance they might seem to be nothing alike, to have no similarities at all, and yet both had elements in common from Batman's perspective: What did the Firefly really hope to gain by his performance tonight? What could a serial killed like the Corinthian gain from his murders?   
  
They were united by an almost complete senselessness.   
  
Robin had once told Alfred that part of Batman's zeal to defeat criminals was because he found their thinking untidy and that was an offence in itself. Alfred had repeated this to Bruce, in an effort to lift his spirits during a frustrating case, but there was more than a grain of truth to it.  
  
If he could understand their thinking, not just try to predict their actions, he would perhaps be more efficient as a crimefighter, but he'd be veering dangerously close to the sort of thinking that gave rise to such crimes in the first place, and that was too much of a risk.  
  
Batman was some distance away from the Chocolate Box district when he heard on his earpiece the call to Despatch of the first police car arriving at Ma Graves. It was followed a few minutes later by a call from an officer, who sounded as if she were in deep shock, for as much backup as could be spared.  
  
On hearing this, Batman moved faster until he reached the house, there was more than one car outside now, as well as an ambulance.   
  
By instinct, when Batman arrived he went straight to the window that he suspected Robin would have used to get into the house, assuming, correctly, that the circuit breaker would still be in place. He slipped in, and into a scene from hell.  
  
The first things he saw were the naked, or near naked, bodies: four teenage males who had clearly died in as grotesque a manner as he could imagine, and who had then been subjected to this... this... obscenity of a display, in death. A small, quiet part of him hoped that they _had_ been dead when this had been done to them because the alternative was beyond thinking about.  
  
He looked at them more closely, automatically searching for a head of black wavy hair, and hating himself for the small sense of relief he felt when he couldn't see one, at least, not one he recognised. The blood made it difficult to see. He felt his blood turn to ice when he saw the mask hanging from the wires, and the gloves dangling from the wrists of two of the boys. Might the Police have cut down a body already? No, there wouldn't have been time for a proper examination, if they had they wouldn't have left the mask like that. But if Robin wasn't here then where...  
  
A chair, like the one from Ma Graves office downstairs, was in the middle of the dangling ring of corpses, and ropes had clearly been cut away from someone who had been tied to it. Could that have been...  
  
Gordon stepped into Batman's sight and, clearly aware of the expression that would be hidden behind Batman's cowl, didn't waste time with even the most perfunctory of greetings; "He's not dead. We found him handcuffed to the stairs out here." He indicated the chair, "_That_ was where we found Graves."  
  
Batman shut his eyes for a second, desperately trying not to show his relief too visibly. But Gordon hadn't said "Robin's alright", just that he wasn't dead, so he could still be...  
  
As he moved determinedly to the door leading out to the hall, being careful not to disturb the crime scene, Batman caught sight of a clearly somewhat shaky Robin coming towards him.   
  
Batman had rarely been so relieved to see that brightly coloured costume, and though he was glad to see that his protégés mask was still in place (it must have been one of his spares that the Corinthian had posed with the bodies), he noted that Robin was not wearing his gloves. He didn't even have time to think about what that might mean in terms of fingerprints.  
  
He heard Robin saying something to a medic who obviously wanted him to stay still.  
  
"....I have to see."  
  
Batman moved fast, blocking his wards path to the room. Part of him knew he should ask after Robin, see how he was, but instead said the first thing that came into his head, "There's nothing that you could have done..."   
  
As soon as he said it he knew it was the wrong thing, it would only make him more determined to SEE what he "couldn't have done". Moving faster than Batman would have though he could in his condition, Robin ducked under his arm and stared into the room.  
  
For a moment he stood there in dumb disbelief, any word he could have thought to say inadequate. Robin, the Boy Wonder, who had seen grief and tragedy and pain in a way that few ever would, was suddenly just a horrified fourteen year old who has just seen far too much.  
  
Batman quickly caught him around the shoulders, and steered him away from the room, just in time as it turned out as Robin proceeded to be violently and wretchedly sick. He clearly hadn't the only one either, judging by the expressions on several of the attending officers. The clinical part of his mind, the part that WAS Batman, noted that at least he hadn't contaminated the immediate crime scene.   
  
Behind Batman, Gordon, who had just realised what must have happened turned on Batman with a fury that few ever really saw, the fury that only the father of a child can summon up.  
  
"Dear God, what are you thinking him letting him see this? Get him away from here NOW!"  
  
Batman glared up at him, but found he had nothing to say.   
  
Gordon hissed quietly, so quietly that only Batman could hear; "Get him out of here, but I'm not finished with you on this matter believe me!"  
  
Without another word, Batman scooped Robin up and moved towards the staircase. The medics and Police Officers cleared a path with alacrity. Some looking with concern at the boy, some with fear at his mentor, a couple angry at anyone who could take a child into a situation like this. Batman couldn't argue with any of those emotions, but he did pause for the second or two he needed to pick up the discarded bat-cuffs and wipe the banister rod where Robin must have been secured. He knew he might be destroying evidence, but didn't care, and in all probability there wouldn't be any prints other than Robin's there to worry about, the Corinthian was far too careful to be that sloppy.   
  
As he stepped over the body of one of Graves guards at the front door, Batman could hear Gordon's comment behind him "Okay, just so we're clear about something. As far as anyone here is concerned, neither of those two people was ever here tonight. They will not appear in any of your reports, records or observations. Have I made myself clear on that?" There was no answer, none was needed, Gotham cops knew the score.  
  
Again the Batman part of his mind was telling him to leave Robin outside somewhere and then come back to help with the examination, there might be all sorts of evidence that would be lost if it was left to the police to do the work.  
  
He hated that part of his mind sometimes, and on this occasion he ignored it. Robin's condition took precedence, the living over the dead.  
  
Since Robin was clearly in no state to use the bat-line, Batman reached for the control on his belt that would summon the Car from it's hidden parking space near Police Headquarters.  
  
In the meantime he carried Robin down towards the nearest dark alleyway, and finding a place to hide them both in the shadows, sat back to wait, holding the boy tightly so he wouldn't collapse, wrapping his much larger cape around him so might warm up enough to stop shivering. He tried to think of something he could say that would make Robin feel better, but couldn't think of a single thing. He hoped Alfred would be able to think of something.  
  
Fifteen feet away in the same alley, clouded from perception again and smoking a cigarette, the Corinthian watched them both, and smiled. He waited until a dark and mysterious (of course) car, it's engine barely purring (and _again_ decorated with that omnipresent bat-motif) had pulled up, and Batman had laid Robin in the passenger seat, carefully buckling him in and laying his own cape over him like a blanket. Batman then climbed into the drivers seat and drove off, a shadow fleeing from the advancing dawn that was starting to light the sky.  
  
The Corinthian stifled a yawn, it had been a long night, but he was pleased with his accomplishments, but there was yet more to do... With that he started to walk back to the hotel, singing quietly to himself as he disappeared into the dark; "Ring-a-ring-a-rosies, a pocket full of posies...."  
  
As he steered the car, and looked over at the crumpled form of Robin in the other seat, Batman thought again about life in Gotham, for a short while he had been able to distract himself from the grim realities of the Corinthian, from the sordid underbelly of Gotham that he'd been dealing with, the Firefly had been an almost amusing, if potentially dangerous diversion. A threat, but was nothing compared to the threat the Corinthian presented. Now the reality of the serial killer had returned to haunt them again.  
  
Robin was half asleep again, muttering something incomprehensible in his sleep. In a flagrant breach of his own rules about such things, Batman pulled his cowl off, and found he did know the right thing to say. He put his hand on his son's clammy forehead, stroked his hair and murmured soothingly.  
  
"It's okay Dick, it's okay son. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise" 


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17 - The Batcave, 28 minutes later  
Batman had noticed that, particularly since Robin had joined him, Alfred nearly always managed to be halfway down the stairs to the Batcave as the Batmobile (As Dick sill insisted on calling The Car) pulled up after the nightly patrol. Batman had long since given up wondering whether Alfred simply hung around on the off chance, which seemed improbable, or had some sort of early warning system he had simply yet to locate, which seemed far more likely.  
  
Whatever the reason, Bruce was grateful to see him. If the Manor might had been built around Alfred, it couldn't have had a firmer foundation.  
  
"I took the liberty of preparing some hot drinks and a small selection of…" His voice trailed off when he saw that not only was Robin not bouncing out of the car the way he usually did, but Batman had actually taken his cowl off whilst still in the car. Something must be seriously wrong.  
  
Bruce all but carried the clearly shaken Robin (Who, Alfred noted in passing, wasn't wearing his gloves) to the examination table in the "triage section" of the cave. Bruce made a small gesture to Alfred, and he immediately joined them. When Bruce indicated the area around Robin's neck, Alfred nodded.  
  
"Blunt head trauma?"   
  
Behind him, almost on reflex, Bruce pulled the cowl up again. This was also not a good sign, in Alfred's estimation. It usually meant there was something that Bruce didn't want to face on it's own terms so he was becoming Batman to deal with it.  
  
"I suspect so, I didn't have much time to check him out, so I thought it best to bring him straight home. Bqack of the head or neck, though there's no obvious bruising."  
  
"If only you'd think of that before such things before the altercations take place…" Alfred broke off at the warning look he was getting.  
  
He allowed none of his own concern he felt to show in his voice. If the boy was shocked, he needed reassurance, and that was Alfred's role in this, as in so many other situations. "If you will allow me Master Dick." Alfred moved behind Robin and removed the yellow cape to allow a better view of the back of the boy's neck and, with fingers grown skilled through long experience, began to probe gently.  
  
In the meantime Robin hadn't said a word, which disturbed Alfred most of all. He turned to Bruce and made a vague querying gesture with his hands. Batman shook his head, not now.  
  
Robin winced as Alfred touched a sore spot under the tunic. Alfred expertly slit the through the tunic and undershirt with a convenient scalpel, and looked at the area more closely. "There's definite bruising just here, Master Bruce, under the collar line, a single blow at a guess." He moved out of the way so Batman could take a closer look, Alfred could treat a wound, but Batman could identify the cause better.  
  
"It's called the Sleeping Viper, I've seen the technique a couple of times, it's a nerve strike. The spot is small, and not a nerve cluster that many people can hit effectively, certainly not through an undershirt, a tunic and a cape. That tells us something about who did this. They're very strong and very precise."   
  
Meanwhile Alfred moved around and, using a dab of the solvent that was always to hand, carefully removed Robin's mask. He didn't like the slightly glassy look that Master Dick wore underneath. He shone a small torch into each eye, tracking each pupil's reaction and tracking. Only then did he allow himself a small and silent sigh of relief.  
  
"A minor concussion, but nothing that should be too serious. No need for Dr Thompkins this time I think, though I'll let her know, of course. You wait here young sir, and I'll fetch you something for that bruise."  
  
He moved away to fetch a cold pack, and Batman joined him. Robin just stayed where he was, looking at something neither of the older men could see, but one could well imagine.  
  
They conferred in low whispers.  
  
"Was it intended as a lethal blow?" Alfred asked, a loathsome question, but one that needed to be considered.  
  
"No, not this one. It renders the target deeply unconscious, but that's all it does. If he'd wanted Robin dead, he would have been."   
  
"The concussion is minor, as I said. The injury itself is only a bruise now that he has recovered, though his neck will be quite sensitive for a day or two I'll be bound. But he _is_ in shock. What did he see tonight that could have done this?"  
  
"Horror." was the simple reply.  
  
When Alfred just fixed Batman with one of the stares that had managed to cow him at age seven and still managed to get through his emotional barricades now.  
  
"Master Bruce, there is a time and place for cryptic comments. This is not one of them."  
  
Batman nodded. "The Corinthian struck again tonight. Along with a couple of hired heavies, he killed four boys that Robin was protecting, and the only reason he didn't kill Robin was because he's playing some sick mind game, and he sees Robin as a player. When he came around, Robin saw the bodies as the Corinthian had arranged them, like puppets…" Before Alfred even had a chance to glare, Batman held up a hand "I know, believe me I know. I never intended for him to get involved with this case at all. And never like this."  
  
"And yet he did get involved" Alfred let the neutral comment hang, he knew nothing he could say could either help, or make Master Bruce feel any worse. He took the opportunity to busy himself, taking the cold pack and applying it to the back of Dick's neck.  
  
"If you will insist on wearing them, you might want to consider adding some sort of protective layer to the collar of your capes, Master Bruce. Something to protect against this sort of impact. Several of the older volumes in the library show suits of armour with such a thing, I believe. I happened to open one when dusting and…"  
  
"A gorget, yes. I've heard of them." It was a simple idea, and an eminently sensible one, too, provided the protective material could be made flexible enough, and wouldn't chafe. He made a mental note to work on it for future costumes.  
  
"And in the meantime, I think the best thing the young master could use is some hot cocoa and rest. Sleep if he can manage it."  
  
"I agree on the sleep, but isn't sweet tea recommended for shock?"  
  
"If you read more than 'How to deal with gunshot wounds' in your numerous first aid manuals, you'd know that sugar and hot fluids aren't isn't recommended for shock at all, however, as this is an emotional rather than a physical one, this is more akin to comfort food. I always have some to hand of an evening."  
  
"Take it up to Dick's room, I'll bring him up."  
  
"I'll have a suitable excuse for Master Dick's school tomorrow, just in case. I believe it has been some time since he has had a severe head-cold, and what with the skating incident this evening…"  
  
"I'm sure you'll be very convincing Alfred."  
  
"I always have been in the past."  
  
Batman didn't even notice him leave, though he'd have been hard pushed to hear a sound at the best of times. He returned to where Robin was still sitting.  
  
"Come along Dick" Batman spoke in a low gentle voice, "Time for you to get some rest I think."  
  
He shepherded his ward up the long flight of stairs to Wayne Manor, removing his cowl as he did so and carelessly dropping the cloak on the stairs.   
  
When they reached Dick's room, he carefully steered him towards the bed. A steaming mug of cocoa was already waiting on the bedside cabinet, with a small pile of home made chocolate chip cookies.  
  
Dick clasped the mug like a life preserver when it was placed in his hand. He swallowed several mouthfuls without looking and reached for a cookie without a word.  
  
Bruce was relieved, it was at least a normal action, the most normal action he'd seen from Dick since he'd found him in Ma Graves.  
  
When Dick had finished, he started to remove his utility belt and tunic, still without a word. Bruce turned away at that point to allow the boy some privacy, even his somewhat stunted parental skills told him that.  
  
A few minutes later he turned to see that Dick was now in his pyjama's but was still just sitting again.   
  
Bruce came over and moved him so he was lying on the bed, Dick obeyed like a puppet, offering no resistance.   
  
"Just rest Dick, sleep if you can."  
  
He pulled the quilt up over him, then he sat down in the nearby chair and became all but immobile so as not to disturb him. He wasn't at all surprised to find a second cup of cocoa had been left by the side of the chair, Alfred knew his habits in such cases well. There weren't any cookies for him though.  
  
As he sat there, a part of his mind wondered absently yet again over his wards choice of bed linen. All right, he realised that children had to have heroes, but a _Superman_ quilt-cover? If Clark ever found out he'd never let Bruce hear the end of it at JLA meetings. He'd probably even offer to autograph it for him too... Bruce paused, well, Dick's birthday _was_ in a couple of months, and it might be worth it just to see the look on his face. Bruce weighed the pro's and cons of it as an idea as he sipped his own cocoa.  
  
+ + +  
  
Some time later Dick woke from a disturbed sleep, something to do with an eyeless face smiling at him in a way that was all wrong. He sat bolt upright, sweat pouring off him.  
  
He was not as surprised as he might have been to see Bruce sitting in the chair next to the bed. A wash of memories flooded through him, and he started to shake again. Before he'd felt himself shut down rather than face it, but now, with a little more time and some rest he'd be able to cope with it. At least he hoped he could. but not alone..  
  
"Don't think about it Dick, there was nothing you could have done."  
  
"But you left me looking after them and they… they.."  
  
"Yes, they did. The fault was mine, I shouldn't have left you alone. I have no idea if I could have done anything differently, but I know you did your best to help them."  
  
"That doesn't help."  
  
"It's the best I can do, I'm sorry", said Bruce simply. "And I'm also sorry to have to press you further, but do you recall anything about the man who attacked you?"  
  
Dick frowned, there was a space in his memory. He tried to explain it to Bruce as best he could  
  
"I remember hearing a noise, and telling the kids to wait… and going down the stairs, and seeing something… no, someone standing there. Why would I think 'something' when I know it's a person Bruce? There was a man there, and he was standing in front of me, he'd just come into the house, and then he wasn't standing in front of me and then I remember waking in the upstairs hall, but nothing else."  
  
"Do you remember anything about what he looked like? Even the slightest clue could help."  
  
Dick's frown deepened further as he concentrated hard. "No, not a thing, I couldn't even tell you how old he was, or how tall he was. I should be able to remember something, but I can't. It's like I can almost see around him, but he's a hollow space. Does that make sense?"  
  
Bruce knew that Dick worked hardest at the things that didn't come naturally to him, and though he lacked the all but eidetic memory of Batman, he'd worked hard at the memory techniques Bruce used. If he said he didn't remember anything, chances were it was for a reason. Pushing this now wouldn't help.  
  
"Don't worry about it Dick, we'll try again later, in the meantime, just see if you can get some more rest. Alfred will cover for your absence at school today, so take all the time you need. I have some things I have to take care of, but Alfred will be around if you need him."  
  
As he left the room he picked the remains of Robin's costume off the floor, he'd have Alfred repair it, or burn it, whichever he preferred.  
  
Dick settled back down, tiredness taking it's toll properly this time, but as he drifted off he did recall one final thing.  
  
"Did you take your mask off in the Car?"  
  
"That would have been a most irregular thing to do don't you think?" came the solemn reply.  
  
So he _did_ do it, thought Dick, Bruce never avoided a direct answer if there was nothing to hide.  
  
"Yes. Yes it would be most irregular" mumbled Dick with an equally solemn tone as he finally slept again. 


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18 - City Park Hotel, Gotham  
  
Can a nightmare dream?   
  
The simple answer is no. Those created in the Dreaming cannot dream themselves, any more than a man can lift himself up in the air by reaching down, grabbing his own ankles and pulling upwards.   
  
But simple answers rarely tell the whole story, and the Corinthian was never one to let the impossible get in his way. He might not be able to dream, but there substitutes if one were creative enough for him.  
  
The most common form of relaxation he had was secondary memory. Thoughts and perceptions that were not originally his, but which he could nonetheless experience. The Lord of the Dreaming had given him that gift at his creation and he was truly grateful for it.  
  
As he lay back on his comfortable bed in the City Park Hotel, he savoured… images.   
  
There was an old myth that the eyes retained the last image they saw when they died, (as in the habit of Victorian Police photographing murder victims eyes in the hope of finding an image of the murderer) but humans had never been much for subtlety. In fact the eyes remembered everything they had ever seen, every ray of light that fell on an optic nerve was recorded at some level, just as every ray of light that fell on a photographic plate marked it. It took a very special kind of perception to be aware of this, but the Corinthian certainly had that.  
  
He savoured most the eyes of those who had seen cruelty but not been completely destroyed by it, the mingled flavours of innocence, corruption and personal agony were his favourites. Not that he killed only to feed mind you, only animals did that. He killed because he could and because it was his mission, the fact he was good at it was merely a pleasant bonus.  
  
He hadn't had long to enjoy his work last night, but the flavours had been marvellous. He settled back and replayed some of the images that he had absorbed from his most recent victims. Images, sensations of humiliation, neglect, disillusionment, fear, pain and loneliness all mingled, sometimes from Carlos, sometimes from Brad, sometimes from victims long since gone, whose names he could recall, but rarely bothered to. He smiled warmly as he basked in the sheer accumulated misery of their lives and the agony they had experienced at his own hands… They had truly known the stuff of nightmares in their lives, and had met an end to match.  
  
In this state, as close to dreaming as a dream could ever come, the Corinthian relaxed, contented and temporarily sated on dreams... He had things to do later in the day, but in the meantime he smiled, and smiled and smiled. 


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19 - Gotham City Police Headquarters, 8.30am  
There were times when a perpetually hangdog expression came in damned handy, thought Gordon as he entered his office, at least no one notices when you really _do_ feel that bad. He'd been back from the crime scene for less than twenty minutes. He'd overseen the removal of the bodies and braved the gamut of reporters who had decided to all but blockade the GCPD, since going to Graves house would have involved some actual journalism and fortitude.  
  
Waiting for him in his outer office had been two of the most stereotyped looking federal Agents Gordon had ever seen.   
  
She was white and had short cropped dark hair, and wore a charcoal grey skirt-suit and a simple white blouse. He was black and wore the male equivalent, with a tie of such dark red that it would probably have been cheerier if he'd just worn plain black. She was named Pulaski, he, God help him, seemingly really _was_ named "Smith".  
  
She tended to speak for the both of them, introducing themselves without fuss or any of the arrogance he had seen on occasions from other agents. Neither looked pleased to be there, though whether that was because they had been assigned to the Corinthian case or sent to the nightmare city known as Gotham or both, Gordon couldn't guess and didn't really care at the moment.  
  
Pulaski spoke first, a barely noticeable Texan accent in her voice.   
  
"You might be expecting flim-flam and rivalry here Commissioner, so let's get that part out of the way first. Cards on the table from the word go. We are aware of the unusual situation here in Gotham, I've worked Metropolis in the past, Jones has worked Star City. Frankly, whilst I think we'd all prefer things weren't that way, we don't live in a perfect world and self-appointed superheroes are a fact of life. And, though I'd never say this at a promotion board, they can be damned handy to have around at times, yours has quite the reputation. A lot more reliable than Green Arrow, though Superman is another case altogether of course. I have a brother in the SCU there and he all but worships him."  
  
Gordon found himself warming to this agent already. He much preferred straight talk. Provided you could be sure that the straight talk wasn't in itself a bluff. But he had developed excellent people reading skills over the years and he got a good gut feeling about the two of them.   
  
She gestured towards the paperwork on the desk.  
  
"I have to say, I'm impressed by the thoroughness of your forensic evidence."   
  
"We certainly have enough opportunity to refine our techniques in Gotham, mores the pity. Our Toxicology crew alone is four times the size of Washington's, which is saying something."  
  
"Indeed, though I was particularly impressed by the speed with which some results had been processed given the first murder you actually investigated was only yesterday morning. I wasn't aware that the GCPD possessed that sort of computing power."  
  
Gordon kept his face impassive as he replied. "A local citizen, who prefers to remain anonymous, generously provides time on a variety of advanced pieces of equipment."  
  
Pulaski gestured to the detailed graphs and print outs in her file "Clearly a _very_ generous citizen. One of those that we were just talking about?"  
  
"Indeed, however I'm sure if there were any particular results of testing you wish to probe further into, that we could reproduce the results in our own labs."  
  
"Of course, and I suppose that this analysis, was carried out by an authorised member of the GCPD?"  
  
Gordon didn't even blink "I could certainly prove that to the satisfaction of the courts." He gave his most significant pause "…if anyone were ever to require it."  
  
Pulaski nodded. "Understood."  
  
They sat in silence for a few moments, each reading the others respective files, occasionally asking questions of each other.  
  
Pulaski had been assigned to the Corinthian case for three years, Smith for a little over a year. Gordon shuddered at the scenes they must have had to deal with. After only two he felt ten years older. He noticed more subtle signs about her, the slight bags under the eyes well hidden with make-up, the controlled stress in Smith's body language.   
  
"Is there a medical update on the Graves woman?"  
  
"Graves is another matter. She's in a state of complete breakdown. The doctors estimate it could be months before she's coherent again, if she ever is."  
  
"Wish I could say I was more upset about that."  
  
"Me too Commissioner, but whatever else she might be, she might have been a witness, what she saw happen could have been an invaluable source of information."  
  
"There's something I have to ask Commissioner. There are rumours about there being a fifth kid involved in last night's events. Might even have been one of this town's capes."   
  
"I've heard that rumour too, Agent Pulaski"  
  
"Please Commissioner. Don't play games with me on this. There's a further rumour that a mask and gloves were left but mysteriously disappeared and don't show up in any of the photo's the coroner or CSI team took. The empty space on the fan is another strong hint that there's more going on here."  
  
"I was one of the first on the scene, and there was no fifth boy on the fan at any point last night, and I have no idea who a fifth boy might have been."  
  
Pulaski looked genuinely disappointed, "I see, well I'm very sorry to hear that Commissioner. I'd hoped we could make more progress than that."  
  
"So did I" And Gordon meant it, "but this isn't Metropolis".   
  
There was an uncomfortable silence until it came time came for the Task Force meeting.   
  
The assembled Task Force was in sombre mood. Even the gallows humour that tends to permeate such sessions in an effort to keep everyone sane was conspicuous by its absence. Speaking tones were muted, some of the team looked stressed, to be honest _most_ looked stressed, all had that "stretched" look of those who are doing too much, for too long, but can't stop. Even then it was easy to spot some who were clearly just back from the crime scene.  
  
They sat around the conference table, rubbing their eyes, nudging the person next to them to make sure they were awake and staring down at half empty coffee cups, of which there seemed to be far too many. Every ashtray in the place was filled to overflowing, but no one saw fit to point to the "No Smoking" signs; if the choice was between watching a friend smoking a cigarette or punching a wall, most of the team were prepared to be tolerant of a bit of second hand smoke.  
  
Gordon called the meeting to order and introduced Pulaski and Smith. There was the usual round of half-hearted greetings from the assembled detectives.  
  
Pulaski gave her presentation, basically an outline briefing of the case and the Corinthian's history. As with Gordon, her straightforward approach appeared to win over more of the team than the words "FBI" usually managed to alienate.  
  
"As many of you will be aware, the FBI has been tracking a serial killer known as the Corinthian for several years now. He has a consistent approach which led to him being one of the first true pattern killers we documented… The recent murders in Bludhaven and Gotham match his profile and thanks to the excellent forensic work of GCPD I strongly believe that they are his work."  
  
"I'm not a psychologist, though I have some training in that area. There are any number of technical terms used by those who ARE psychologists to describe him. The one used most often by us is 'Sick son of a bitch with less right to live than a cockroach'." It didn't get a laugh, but Gordon had a feeling it hadn't been meant to.  
  
"He's killed enough young men and children to populate a decent sized high school. Most, but not all, were male prostitutes, or male minors employed in the vice game, others were simply ordinary kids he picked for no reason we've been able to confirm. He has killed those peripherally involved in his hunt, but he reserves special treatment for his targets."   
  
"In textbook terms he's a psychopathic sexual sadist with a fetishistic tendencies."  
  
"All his victims have been found tied in any one of a number of almost ritually submissive positions. He uses rope, fishing line or anything else that came to hand. Some have been raped, some sodomised, some have had things done to them so bizarre that there aren't actually names for them. I have slides for those who don't believe me on that last score, but don't eat beforehand."  
  
"No matter what he does to them beforehand, he leaves them alive enough for the cause of death in each case to be the same. All have their eyes cut out with a wide bladed knife, probably a hunting knife, and are left to bleed to death, if the shock of their experiences wasn't enough to do it anyway. He then proceeds to eat the internal part of the eyes, leaves the remains and the bodies on display and moves on."  
  
"And each and every time he has committed a murder he has done it without leaving a single shred of evidence. Not a fingerprint, not a hair, not even a skin cell."  
  
"If he treats 'em the way you say, ain't there some sperm left or sometin' like that"  
  
"Not that we're ever been able to find, Detective Bullock." Gordon was impressed, Pulaski must have memorised a lot of names to be that confident in identifying him, though Bullock was memorable for all sorts of reasons.   
  
"Like we said, most of his victims have been sexually active one way or another, but there has been no forensic evidence in common with each case. Certainly any sperm residue we've found has been too old to be from the killer. Or in the cases where we are confident that the victim has had no prior sexual experiences, there is no sperm to be recovered. It's possible he fires blanks, but if that's not the reason, he uses the best damn prophylactic technique we've ever come across."  
  
"In fact, apart from the eyes, about the only reason we can be sure it's him in each case is the complete _lack_ of evidence. No other killer has been so consistently adept at covering his tracks."  
  
"He's also unpredictable in his timing, He can kill once then lie low for months, or kill on a daily basis in the same city for a number of weeks, then move on. There's no more pattern to his actions timing than there is to his choice of victims."  
  
"With so many of the victims being found in hotels and motels, aren't there any security videos of him arriving or departing, or eyewitnesses?" This time from Montoya, a young beat cop that Gordon had high hopes for, she'd make Detective before she hit thirty if she kept up at this rate.  
  
"Good question, Officer… Montoya isn't it?" Pulaski definitely earned extra points from Gordon for that feat of memory. "He tends to use the sort of establishments where the clientele insist there aren't any cameras. We know of one instance where the owner liked to secretly film his customers for his own… entertainment. We know the Corinthian not only moved to another room, but later killed the owner in a suitably gruesome manner and set fire to the entire building just to ensure no film survived. Even in the cases where there are video camera's he usually stays long enough for the tapes to be reused, which is usually a day or two at most, and manages to avoid being taped after checking in, uses other exits and the like."  
  
"As for eyewitnesses, it's strange, and another recognisable aspect of his MO that no one, but no one recalls his appearance."  
  
"Covering their own backs?" Bullock again.  
  
"Very possible in some cases, but in every case it seems to be more genuine confusion. They literally can't recall his appearance. The most common terms are 'just some guy', 'he looked cool', 'looked like anyone else' and so on, much as your witnesses reported this time around"  
  
"He's a serial killer with supervillain type powers? Oh that's all this burg needs!"  
  
"That's all _any_ burg needs Detective Bullock. His precise methodology in such cases is unknown, but we can't rule him being metahuman out."   
  
Smith made one of his rare interjections. His rich speaking voice belied his somewhat dull appearance. Gordon idly wondered what his singing voice sounded like, probably impressive.  
  
"Some of our psych profiles actually hinge on that possibility, suggesting that he murders because he not only feels apart from other humans, as in the case of psychopathic and sociopathic disorders, but because he actually IS apart from other humans. The cutting of the eyes may be a sense of shame or self-loathing manifesting, he doesn't want his victims to be able to see him. He travels around a lot because he can't fit into society."  
  
"My heart bleeds for the poor guy." Bullock's tone dripped irony.  
  
"Mine too Detective, mine too. Frankly I don't know if that's true or complete garbage, but if it helps me catch this guy I'm prepared to accept he's a reincarnation of the St Francis of Assisi balancing out all his good karma."  
  
Pulaski took over again, "We have to say that this time he has topped his own personal best. The murder in Bludhaven and the lone victim the night before last are typical of his actions. The maximum he's killed before is three, but six, and four of those his 'special cases', is unheard of. We'll be spending most of the day at the crime scene and we'll have some of our agents there too. We'll try not to get in your way, but in return, please be prepared to help us out when we request assistance."   
  
"Now, finally I want to emphasise that to be honest we are long past caring about who gets this SOB. It's gone beyond any individual agency. It'd be nice if the FBI got him after all this time, but with the combined Police Forces of thirteen States after his blood too, if it goes to one of you guys to get him, you have our unreserved blessing and your on my Christmas card list for life. I have a son, he's six years old, I don't get to see him enough and I love him to death. I don't want him growing up in a world where there is a Corinthian still at large. Thank you for your attention. Any questions?"  
  
There were very few, mostly concerned with minor details of past cases.   
  
Gordon called the group to order again "I'm sure we appreciate Agent Pulaski and Smith being so frank, and we will be the same in return. We have a lot of work to do, and as always, little time to do them in. I have every confidence in you."   
  
The room cleared, and with nods towards Gordon, Pulaski and Smith departed too, until the Commissioner was alone in the briefing room. Without a word, he went around and closed all the blinds, then locked the door. Only then did he speak aloud,  
  
"You may as well come out, I know you wouldn't have missed this."  
  
There was a creaking sound and an airvent opened in the ceiling, a dark cloaked shape dropped lightly to the ground  
  
"We have some things we need to talk about." 


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20 - GCPD Briefing Room #4 11.12 am  
"What were you thinking?!"  
  
Gordon was furious, Batman had rarely heard him this angry, and had never had that anger directed quite so forcefully at himself before. He put down the file he'd brought with him.  
  
"I asked you, as a favour, which I thought you understood and even, for some reason and after years of evidence to the contrary, agreed with, to leave the boy out of this case…"  
  
"Jim…"  
  
"Don't you 'Jim' me on this! Instead of this simple request, this reasonable simple request, what do I find? The very next night I find that same child lying handcuffed and unconscious in the middle of a multiple murder scene, having been assaulted by a serial killer. It'll take everything I have to keep reference to him out of this investigation, I've already had to tamper with evidence to remove the mask and gloves, and I've had to lie to the first two FBI agents I've actually liked in years!"  
  
"Jim, Robin was not involved in the case in the way you're thinking. I did go to question Ma Graves about the boy who died, I'd found out he worked for her. Robin was there because they would be too scared of me. I left him looking after them so I could deal with the Firefly."  
  
"Do you honestly think I would leave him in a position where I thought he would be in danger like that, never mind the others?"  
  
Gordon heard something in his tone, even through his anger. Something he rarely heard from the Batman, could it actually be guilt? Given the circumstances, Gordon was prepared to accept it might be. It didn't make much difference to his mood, but he did moderate his tone just a little.  
  
"You allow a teenager to go up against some of the most deranged madmen in the country on a regular basis and you ask me a question like that?" It was a longstanding frustration in Gordon's understanding of Batman. He had thought he understood him sometimes, had almost got to the heart of his obsession, but when the boy had joined him it had thrown his entire perceptions off. He tried to imagine how he'd feel if Barbara were to be regularly risking her life in that sort of situation, and couldn't imagine it.  
  
"And you don't think it odd that the Corinthian struck at the one place which one of his victims considered to be home? That's not consistent with his previous habits, you've read the reports so you know that. There had to be another reason he ended up there last night."  
  
There was a pause and Batman sounded as if the next words were being dragged out of him, Gordon could almost, but not quite, sympathise. "Yes, he deliberately followed us somehow. Or.." the pause was very noticeable this time, "..more likely followed Robin, since he didn't follow me on to the Firefly affair."  
  
"And it gets worse. Did you check in Robin's belt for anything else that might be missing?"  
  
"Like what?" It was clear from Batman's tone that he knew exactly what the answer would be, which didn't surprise Gordon.  
  
"The bodies we found were strung up with fishing line, but their wrists were bound with something else. Preliminary reports suggest that it's what is technically referred to as a "deceleration cable", a very modern, possibly experimental type. It's only because one of the lab workers is an extreme sports buff that we identified it so quickly. What are the odds against it being from Robin's belt."  
  
Again a pause, "There _was_ a length of line missing from Robin's belt, along with the spare mask he carries."  
  
"So look at it from an outsiders point of view. We have the kid partner of Batman, found unconscious in the middle of a murder scene, next to a bunch of kids who are bound with the sort of cable Batman uses and with a mask and gloves belonging to said kid partner hanging up there WITH the bodies, in the house of a woman who runs a kiddie vice-ring that Batman has busted in the past, and who one of the _previous_ murder victims worked for. Do you see how that could be interpreted? Even by the Police who trust you here?"  
  
"Of course I do."  
  
"And it doesn't bother you?"  
  
"You know me better than that, I don't care about my reputation. The sort of people I deal with assume the worst of me because that's what I want them to do. This won't do much."  
  
"I can't think of any time you've ever been linked with a serial killer who focuses on children before, not like this. The innocents you help will be too frightening of you to trust you if word of this ever gets out."  
  
When Batman didn't reply Gordon asked the question that worried him most, the one he hated to ask;  
  
"How is he?"   
  
"He'll recover, the Corinthian wasn't trying to kill him, just put him out of commission."   
  
Gordon already knew that but it did nothing to make him feel better.   
  
"He's young and he's strong, and he doesn't remember much about the attack, which may be for the best in the long term. I'll talk to him about it again once he's had a chance to rest, but I don't think he'll be any more help than any other eyewitness have been. I need to get back to him now."  
  
Gordon nodded, he'd said what he'd had to say, for what that would prove to be worth.  
  
Batman turned away, but stopped and turned back.  
  
"Jim, if you feel you need to tell the FBI agents about Robin being there last night, you should, I'll deal with the consequences as and when they arise. If Robin provides any more information, I'll let you know, along with any other evidence I can find. And Jim…he won't be involved in this case again."  
  
Gordon heard the sincerity in the voice and believed him, but felt he had to say something.  
  
"He shouldn't be involved in any damn case with this lunatic on the loose. Especially not if he's targeting the boy."  
  
Gordon was alone in the room, but he would swear he could hear a faint voice from somewhere overhead.  
  
"I intend to deal with that matter too."  
  
Gordon wasn't sure if he was talking about the Corinthian or Robin, and was even less sure which would prove the easier option.  
  
Feeling no better about anything than when he had started, Gordon set out to locate Agent Pulaski, there were some things she needed to know. 


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter 21 - Gotham City, 4.35 pm  
Chris Sonderson was a popular kid at Allan Scott High. He was nearly fifteen, a consistent B- student, generally liked by faculty and fellow students, on the swim team and a promising member of the Karate Club. (Two years previously a sociology student had written a thesis on the proportionately large number of self-defence clubs for children in the cities with resident superheroes. The Gotham area came highest, well above even Suicide Slum in Metropolis, which itself only just beat a Californian town named Sunnydale that no one had ever heard of before and which had no known hero.)  
  
Chris had short, black curly hair and a pleasant smile he used frequently. It was his eyes that drew most attention though, whilst one was a dark blue, the other was a pale brown. He said it gave him a unique vision.  
  
He was, it must be said, prone to playing practical jokes of a very juvenile nature, so when, whilst walking home from school with a group of friends, he claimed he heard someone calling his name from down an alley they assumed he was trying to lure them down there for some form of prank, probably to take their mind off the recent murders which were filling the headlines, news broadcasts and recess conversations all across the city.  
  
His friends walked on, determined not to be caught out. However, when he had not re-emerged from the alleyway some thirty seconds later Courtney Carmichael, Sonderson's on-again off-again girlfriend, went back to the alley fetch him out, or to react in enough mock horror to whatever shock Chris had planned to get it over with.  
  
To her surprise, the alleyway was empty. A dead end, apart from a door so caked with rust it couldn't have been opened in years and a drop-down fire escape which looked about as rusty and which had to be lowered down from a height that no one could jump without assistance.  
  
Laughing, she called Chris's name, expecting him to appear from wherever he was hiding. However, she would could not overcome the churning feeling in the pit of her stomach that's something was terribly wrong. She called her friends back to help her look but it was quickly apparent that there was nowhere that he could have been hiding, and no way he could have got out of the alleyway without being seen.   
  
They were getting worried now, but reassured themselves that they would find him sitting on his doorstep, laughing his rather braying laugh at having managed to fool them so well. There would be mock anger and gentle punches on the arm and a general sense of relief for all concerned. It was the way he operated, or so they kept telling themselves.  
  
He was not, however, waiting at home. And when his father was informed of his strange disappearance, he wasted no time in contacting the GCPD who, as a minor was involved, immediately launched a neighbourhood wide search. To no avail…   
  
Now had Courtney thought to look UP and been observant enough to spot the faint fall of rusty metal from the fire escape…. 


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter 22 - Gotham City Mortuary  
Contrary to what one might assume, Gotham City Morgue was a popular place to work. Well, possibly "popular" is not the right word to use, but certainly the staff who worked there were highly regarded in their field, and many a PhD was earned based on work that had been carried out there.  
  
Doctors who had served time in Gotham were much sought by other cities. Perhaps due to the clinical nature of the job, they were less likely to be burned out by their experiences than their contemporaries in the Police Force. Doctors who worked in Arkham were, of course, another matter altogether.   
  
Dr Steven Temple was a time-served coroner with over fifteen years experience in Gotham. In that time he had examined more bodies than any two coroners in any other similarly sized city might expect to deal with.  
  
He had examined those who had literally laughed themselves to death, and those who had died of absolute terror, bodies that had been reduced to protoplasmic fluid and those that had been reduced to pieces with a hacksaw. He had written papers on causes of death that made, in his own words, "Clive Barker read like the Sunday Funnies". And that was on top of the ordinary workload a City Coroners Office might expect to have to deal with.  
  
He could also walk into a teaching position with the FBI at Quantico any time he chose, or gain tenure at any University in the country. But he never did, nor did he show any sign of wanting to. When asked why this was the case he simply stated that those he worked with deserved the best attention available, and if that was to be his lot, so be it.  
  
When Gotham Homicide Detectives said that "their body was a Temple" it meant something different from the "civilian" cliché, and was an implicit statement of confidence in the Coroners findings.  
  
He assigned his longevity in the role to an almost supernatural ability to distance himself from her work, and a deeply morbid sense of humour, that very few outside his chosen profession ever understood. This is a skill many people in such roles develop, but his was greater than most. As such, he was a natural to be assigned the children from the Corinthians latest crime scene.  
  
He was pleased with the replacement assistant that he had been assigned, he'd seen him a round a few times, a PhD student on rotation, so he hadn't had much chance to get to know him socially, Still, he was efficient, had an iron constitution, followed his instructions to the absolute letter, and was insightful when he did speak, which was not often, another trait he deeply appreciated.  
  
He'd carried out two of the autopsies before his original assistant had been called away, and he'd looked so relieved he couldn't blame him. He'd carried out one of the remainder with the student, but was in need of a break himself before he had to continue with the last one.  
  
As he indulged in his one true weakness, decent hot chocolate, not the saccharined slurry the machines produced, but proper cocoa he prepared himself at home and taken in in a flask, he looked through the preliminary findings, depressed at the sheer predictability of it.   
  
Cause of death was the same in each case, as he had expected: Shock, trauma and blood loss due to their eyes being removed. They had already been in appalling condition, malnourished, abused, and having been sexually assaulted in the recent past, though he could find no evidence of anything immediately prior to their deaths. Someone else might have thanked heaven for that small mercy, but Dr Temple's defences would not allow him to think such things, there was no aspect of heaven involved in this case except, he hoped, for the dead.  
  
"Anything strike you as odd about the damage to the eyes Doctor?"   
  
He tried not to jump, managing not to spill hot chocolate down his surgical gear. Unshockable as he was, the assistant, what _was_ his name again? "Thomas" definitely, but was that his first name or his last name? At any rate he always seemed to materialise from thin air. He could have been reading his notes over his shoulder for ages and he probably wouldn't have ever noticed, not that he thought he would.  
  
"Lots Thomas, lots. Clearly you think there was something special though, or you wouldn't bring it up."  
  
"Well, there are clearly bite marks, but the arc of… well, if they had been in someone's mouth… surely…" The nurse paused for a second and turned a little green, "Sorry, that's not a phrase I ever thought I'd have to say out loud."  
  
"It's okay son, just take your time…. I could say you get used to it, but that'd be a damn lie. Now, you were saying?"  
  
"Thank you Doctor. Well, the arc of the bite marks is... wrong or, if it's right, then the mouth is a lot smaller than it should be…."  
  
He sighed, he should have known that he'd spot something, he usually did.  
  
"Well, Thomas, now you know a piece of evidence that only the FBI and the Coroners Offices in the States involved are truly aware of. It's always the same pattern with this freak. The arc of the teeth indicates a smaller mouth than seems to be natural for a grown man, some even indicate there are two mouths involved, though that's inconclusive so far. It's one of the best methods of identifying the genuine from the false. It's not even stored on the mainframes in case of their database is hacked. I trust I can rely on your discretion?"  
  
"Of course Dr Temple"  
  
"Good. Remember, I'm the Senior Coroner for this whole city and a whole lot of cops owe me a whole lot of favours. If they found you with a five-foot sword between your shoulder blades, and I were to say it was natural causes no one would doubt me, but _no-one_. So don't make me regret trusting you. Are we clear on that?"  
  
"Yes Dr Temple."   
  
"Don't look so worried man. That was medical humour."  
  
"Yes Dr Temple, I'm laughing on the inside as we speak."   
  
"Good man. Now to business." He took a deep breath. "Final subject in this batch is a juvenile male Hispanic, aged approximately 13 years. Poor physical condition, evidence of recent contusions around upper arms…"  
  
Their grim work continued.  
  
It was another four hours before the work was done and preliminary notes in a condition to type up.   
  
"Do you mind if I leave now Dr Temple? I have to get back to my son."  
  
"You're married Thomas?"  
  
"No, I raise him alone. It's.., complicated. And he hasn't well last night."  
  
"Must be tough for you."  
  
"No more so than for you."  
  
"Too tru… Hey, wait a minute. How did you know I have children? Or that I raise them alone? I never discuss things like that at work."  
  
"An educated guess. I've seen you work before, your reputation is well earned, but today you were different. No one who wasn't a parent could treat the children you had to deal with today in the way you did. You probably weren't even aware you were doing it, too. The same with your wedding band, the look on your face when you put it back on after the surgery, whoever gave it to you isn't in your life any more."  
  
"You're very observant. That's a good trait to have in this line of work."   
  
Thomas sounded slightly embarrassed. "Sherlock Holmes was always a hero of mine."  
  
"Mine too. Well, him and Kermit the Frog. I'm not sure what that says about me."   
  
"You're an eternal optimist?"  
  
"Maybe, I hope so. I said it was a useful skill, but I'd advise against using it in casual conversation though,. No offence, but it's creepy. And I might have been a widower who lost his children along with his wife. Very dangerous territory to show off on."  
  
"None taken. You're right, I'm sorry, I don't always think about that sort of thing, my social skills are a little rusty."  
  
"Just keep an eye on that kid of yours. That's a good start, it keeps you human."  
  
"So I've been told. You too Doctor. Goodnight."  
  
"Good night? Is it night time already?"  
  
"Near enough."  
  
"Time flies when you'd rather be anywhere else but here I guess. Well, I look forward to working with you again Dr Thomas."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
With that he was gone.  
  
As he left the building and headed towards where he had parked the modest car that was Dr Alfred Thomas' means of transport, the posture of Thomas changed, he seemed to grow at least an inch and his shoulders seemed to become broader. With a barely repressed sigh he stretched, muscled popping as he did so.  
  
Dr Temple was growing too interested in him, or in Dr Thomas at any rate. He wouldn't use him for a while, possibly never again. He'd need to make sure he had a new ID available for next time. A pity, Thomas had proven useful on many occasions, and "he" had been an interesting stretch of his acting skills. That was all he was of course, nothing more than that, no more real than "'Matches' Malone" was, or "John Smith" had been many years before, or how Bruce Wayne sometimes seemed to be now.  
  
He pulled into the small car park that was entirely owned by a subsidiary of WayneCorps but rarely appeared on the books. Here Batman stored the variety of vehicles he sometimes needed to use when using the Car was not appropriate.   
  
It had been Dr Alfred Thomas who had got in to the car, but it was Batman who emerged from it.  
  
He had learned little from the autopsies that he didn't already know, although the information about the bite marks was new, it really wasn't stored on any computer he had accessed. It simply confirmed some of his own suspicions. The Corinthian hadn't forced himself on these children, there hadn't been time, but a great deal of skill had been used, Dr Temple had confirmed that. Minimal defensive   
  
He made a note to check on the statements the girls from the house might have made, he didn't expect anything to come from it, but it was worthwhile checking.  
  
Something had been bothering him all day, something that Pulaski had said during her speech had been nagging at him, some comment that should be making a causal link in his head. He's spent part of his time with Temple replaying the tape he'd made of her speech on his earphones. And he'd finally remembered what it was.  
  
He had a phone call to make, after he'd checked on Dick too. Time to go home for a while. 


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter 23 - The City Park Hotel - 6.25 pm  
James (Never Jimmy) Calhoun was walking down the corridor, another room service meal delivered, another two-dollar tip burning a hole in his pocket. It was true what the older waiters had said, the tips really did get bigger the higher the floor they stayed on, so, naturally he was nearly always on the lower floors. A trip or two up to the penthouse suites when business was brisk, but other than that just the odd dollar here and there, still…  
  
He paused and turned around, he could swear he was being followed, but the corridor was empty when he looked back. He shook his head, to clear it, and put the paranoia down to the fact he hadn't slept too well the past couple of nights. Strange dreams and broken sleep patterns put you on edge, never mind the news reports.   
  
Still, he consoled himself, with the tips he was making he might finally be able to afford those new skates (He gave a small internal prayer for the complete, if not _too_ rapid, healing of Mario's fractured ankle so he could keep this job a little longer). Surely, when Vicky saw how good he was, maybe she'd finally agree to go out with him.  
  
He smiled, his bad feelings banished by thoughts of a mass of red curls, dark drown eyes, a snub nose dusted with freckles and a dazzling smile aimed solely at him, meant only for him. Well, a guy could dream…  
  
He was so caught up in that happy mental image that, as he walked past one of the access doors to the back staircase of the hotel, James missed it opening slightly. He didn't have a chance as the arms reached out, one wrapping around his waist, the other clamping itself across his mouth, pulling him back into the darkness of the stairwell beyond..  
  
Fifteen minutes later  
The Corinthian looked down at his new friend. Scared eyes stared back at him, scared eyes that were a striking shade of grey with, the Corinthian was interested to notice, just a shading of pale blue around the edges he hadn't seen before, giving them the appearance of fine old marble….  
  
The Corinthian grinned, that little game was the province of one of his most dedicated students, one of his favourite collectors in the mortal plain. He made a mental note to look up the Bogeyman sometime soon, see how he was getting along, wondered if he'd got into triple figures yet. He probably had. It was nice to see one's students prosper on their own. Perhaps he'd find time to meet some new students in Gotham during this trip, maybe tonight even, once he'd eaten.  
  
It had been fun, and good practice, to stalk his latest catch using his human limitations. It kept one alive, though not in the strictest sense of the term of course.  
  
He had found his new friend, the waiter from last night, down on the third floor of the hotel. It had taken some time to find him and then wait for a time when he was alone and the corridors had been empty. Carrying him back up to the penthouse suite by the backstairs had been especially risky, but it would be worth it, he only had to look at him to see that. Stripping him (Apart from that cute bow tie) and securing him to the bed before he came around again hadn't even been a challenge  
  
"I'm sorry to say Jimmy, that you're going to be the overlooked one. After the fuss about last night, the press will barely find room to cover you, there's only so much that they'll feel their public will be able to take. I've seen it happen before, many, many times. It's not fair really, the spectacular ones get all the attention, and I was really spectacular last night, if I do say so myself. Not many people will think about you, you're just the… leftover, the spare. But I want you to know that that's not how I see it, you're just as important to me as any of the others. You'll have my full attention. By the way," he added conversationally, "Scream or call for help and I'll slit your throat right there and then, okay?"  
  
He leaned forward and pulled the gag down off his mouth.  
  
"Please mister, I'm only filling in here for a couple of days, my Mom's the head Housekeeper here and she needed a hand, I shouldn't really be working here at all, I'm only 14." He was babbling, but anything to stave of the moment he was scared was coming.  
  
"Then I was exceptionally lucky to find you, wasn't I Jimmy?"  
  
"James" It came out on reflex, without thinking.  
  
"Sorry?"  
  
It was too late to back out. "My name, it's James, not Jimmy."  
  
"My apologies, I saw the name on your badge, but assumed you preferred the diminutive. It's nice to meet someone with an eye towards tradition as regards proper names. I won't make that mistake again, I promise. Now James, tell me about your dreams…."  
  
"My what?"  
  
"Dreams, those things that fill your head like visions of sugarplums when your head hits the pillow. Tell me about them."  
  
"And then you'll let me go?"  
  
"It depends on the dreams. Be honest with me and we'll see. Lie, and I'll know it."  
  
And so, in desperation James started, telling the weird freak in the dark glasses about the dreams he could recall. And he recalled a lot of them; the dream of hunting eels that sailed through the air instead of the water, about the dream about an earthquake striking, for some reason, the tree house he'd had when he was seven. About the dream that confirmed that houses where the hot faucet was on the right of the sink instead of the left were places no one should go alone.   
  
Eventually he was interrupted.  
  
"You made that one up."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You made that one up."  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"The one about the tiger that spoke your name as it met you outside your school."  
  
"No, honest mister, the whole truth, all of it."  
  
"It's a lioness, not a tiger, and she couldn't speak aloud if she wanted to."  
  
"Let me try again, maybe I got it wrong. I'm nervous here"  
  
"Don't whine James, it's unbecoming. And I'm sorry, but it's too late: One chance only James, I told you that. I had a busy night last night, and a busy day today, so I have little time to waste. Now you'll just have to face the consequences. Like all the others"  
  
"The others?"  
  
"There's only really one thing different between you and them. I don't normally bother with those I choose, they've already been there and done that, but it would ruin my reputation if you were to be found… intact, as it were. You deserve my special treatment."   
  
He really was naive, the Corinthian thought, he doesn't even know what I'm talking about.  
  
Then, as he saw the eyes slowly widen even further and the mouth slowly open in a silent "oh" as the head started to shake from side to side, he realised that James wasn't _that_ naïve.   
  
"Oh no, oh please, no… don't.."  
  
The Corinthian unbuckled his belt as he moved around, so that James could see what was about to happen.  
  
"With due apologies to another James, Mr Brown that is"; He started to sing softly as he pulled his belt out of it's loops. "I'll be your first… your last… your everything… and the answer to all your dreams."  
  
He replaced the gag and started. If only the soundproofing in this place were a little better and I wasn't sworn off using my abilities to dampen the sound, thought the Corinthian, I'd take the chance and listen to the screams.  
  
Two hours later  
The Corinthian put the remains of the eye down and let out a contented sigh as he watched the last signs of life leave the body, a final twitch of the wrists and a gurgling at the back of the throat. He'd seen it so often before, but it never failed to fascinate him. After the rush of the night before it was nice to be able to take his time and savour a kill, to devote all his time and effort to one person. And James had been exceptional, he had to admit it.   
  
He turned his attention back to the "How did you enjoy your stay?" card he'd found.  
  
"Hospitality? Can't fault them on that one. Five"  
  
"Décor… Well, it's looked better, maybe they need something to get all this blood out… A three for that one? No? All right, two."  
  
"Room Service? Best I've had in a long time, James. Five plus for that one! I should give you a tip you know, oh yeah how about 'Don't talk to strangers?'. Oh, you've heard it before. Never mind then. "  
  
He finished off, not signing his name. That would just be gauche.  
  
However, there was one last little thing to do, a final twist of the knife, metaphorically speaking. Even if James wasn't going to make the front page, he was damn well going to make a good first impression in his new role.  
  
He picked up the phone and dialled Reception. He had to pause for a moment to remember the name he was registered under.  
  
"Housekeeping please. Thank you.,, Hello is that Housekeeping? Yes, this is Mr Bradley in the Davis Suite. I'd like to talk to the Head Housekeeper. Yes it is important, very well, I'll hold… Ah, Mrs Calhoun isn't it? Yes, I insist that you come up here immediately. A young man purporting to be your son was up here recently, and… well… there is now a matter of cleanliness in my room that I wish the head of the Housekeeping section to bear witness to. Believe me I wouldn't trouble you if I didn't think it was important. Five minutes? Yes, I think it can wait that long. See you soon."  
  
With that the Corinthian checked he had everything that mattered; knife, shades and killer smile, and slipped out of the room heading towards the back stairs. He'd already moved the car to safe place following his afternoon escapade, so there was no need to go through all that formal checking out procedure.  
  
As he left he patted the hand of the body on the bed, and straightened the bow tie.  
  
"Don't worry James, I've asked your Mom to come and collect you."  
  
And once more the Corinthian set off into the night, looking at it, as he so often did, with new eyes, fully alert to the promise of the darkness. 


	25. Chapter 24

Chapter 24 - Wayne Manor - 7.12pm  
It was dark outside and Bruce still hadn't returned from wherever he had disappeared off to. Dick had eventually woken again in the late afternoon, but hadn't really felt like doing much. He was troubled in a way he hadn't felt for a long time. Sometimes a round of exercise in the Cave helped, but he didn't feel in the mood right now, and besides, Bruce might show up in full Bat-mode, and Dick didn't need that right now, instead he needed time to think things through on his own right now...  
  
Alfred eventually found Dick in the place where he'd found him many times before, a spot where Dick had spent many long hours shortly after arriving in the Manor; on the ledge of the of the upper windows of the main library, staring out over the extensive grounds of the Manor, the view at sunset was usually spectacular.   
  
The fact the ledge was sixteen feet off the ground with no obvious means of access made it perfect for an acrobatic kid who _really_ didn't want to be disturbed. Alfred had never caught Dick in the act of getting up there and so was still not certain how he managed it, but suspected that the chandeliers were involved somehow and didn't really want to know any more than that.  
  
"Young Sir?" he ventured, "Master Richard?"  
  
"Wha,,,? Oh... hi Alfred. Anything up?"   
  
"Other than yourself?"  
  
"Alfred, that wasn't funny when I was eight, why would you think I'd find it funny now?"  
  
"Hope, sir." was the deadpanned reply.  
  
'Hope', now there was a concept, though Dick. Some people had it, some people had been offered it, others had it taken away from them. He sighed...  
  
"Sir, I have never found it agreeable to hold a meaningful conversation with anyone whilst addressing them with my neck at an angle above 45 degrees, and I do not intend to start now."  
  
"Sorry, I'll come down."  
  
"Wait, let me bring the ladder over, failing that, at least let me close my ey..." it was too late, Dick had already started, a backflip from a sitting position, with a somersault that logic suggested he shouldn't have had time to complete before landing, but somehow did, and landed on his feet, knees bending to absorb the impact, arms out to steady himself. He didn't even look like he'd thought about it, intent to outcome in single, unconsidered action, Alfred shuddered at the possible implications of that.  
  
"Is that better, Alfred?"  
  
"Only in a relative sense, sir."  
  
"So, what's up Alfie?" The boy's light tone was clearly forced, but at least he was trying.  
  
"Other than my blood pressure if you use that diminutive again? Actually, that was going to be my question, Sir. I simply wished to ascertain that you were... all right, that you didn't require anything to eat, or the like. The Master would not like it to be known I had been neglecting primary responsibilities in such a way." Except in his own case of course, Bruce had a tendency to forget to eat, one of the more minor manifestations of his obsessive tendencies.  
  
"No, I'm fine, I was just thinking."  
  
"Anything you'd care to discuss, perhaps over a snack?"  
  
Dick sighed, that was Alfred all over; if it moved, feed it, if it didn't, dust it. Strangely enough, as philosophies went it wasn't a bad one, at least from the perspective of someone who hadn't had anything to eat in hours. He found it hard to believe he could be hungry again, so soon after the previous night, but the body rules the mind at times.  
  
"Maybe..."  
  
Ten minutes later he was sitting at the kitchen table, struggling to maintain the balance between demolishing a pile of scrambled eggs and holding a conversation on a topic which did not lend itself to the dinner table.  
  
"I failed him Alfred. I failed them, but I failed him too."  
  
There was no need to ask who either "him" or "them" might be.   
  
"As I believe Master Bruce has already explained to you, neither of those facts is true. You did your best, but circumstances overcame you, as they have been known to overtake even the mighty Batman. That is not failure."  
  
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"  
  
"I cannot say, sir, only you can attempt to put things into perspective. I would only add that if this individual was able to incapacitate you so easily, it is unlikely that he would have been slowed down by anyone else. What happened was terrible, but it was in no way your fault."  
  
"Come off it, I'm Robin, 'the Boy Hostage', remember."  
  
Alfred wrinkled his nose as only a well-bred Englishman can, "Oh dear, is that the stale odour of self-pity I detect?"  
  
"No... well, maybe a little... but it's just one of the names... y'know..."  
  
"Indeed I do. I believe that the first person to use that particular term was Two-Face, or so you have told me in the past..."   
  
Since his frenzied, murderous assault on Robin on one horrific night years before, Alfred found it impossible to think of Two-Face as "Poor Mr Dent", as once he had, despite having known, and liked, Dent in times gone by. So much had changed in that single night, but that must never be thought of, never out loud, and certainly never in front of the young master.  
  
"...and if you are going to start basing your self-image on the comments of the inmates of Arkham Asylum, then there is very little I can do for you." Except suggest a healthier circle of acquaintances of course, but that could never be said either.  
  
"Listen to me Master Richard. Many people are brave, but a hero is brave for a moment longer than the norm, and then another, and then another. You acted bravely last night, even heroically, as you have in the past, as I am sure you will in the future. The fact that you were not successful is not a cause for shame, nor is it a cause of disappointment for Master Bruce. You were concerned for those in your care and you did your best to protect them. That is all that anyone can ask, even Master Bruce."  
  
"That still doesn't excuse me for what happened."  
  
Alfred fought to prevent frustration creeping into his tone "Please understand Master Dick, there is nothing _to_ excuse in what happened. When you can appreciate that, you will be able to get over what you have experienced and move on. Trust me."  
  
Alfred had said all he could, possibly even more than was appropriate for someone in his unique position, though he was prepared to take that risk in this case. Dick was not prone to the same moodiness as his mentor, who had refined such behaviour in his formative years and since raised it to the level of an art form, but when it did happen it struck him hard. Alfred had learned the best way to deal with it was to repeat the obvious several times, then give the lad enough time to absorb and accept the information.   
  
At least Dick had shown he had the potential to accept such facts, hard though it would be for him, and would hopefully, accept the fact that sometimes he couldn't save everyone, which was more than Bruce had ever achieved. Alfred reminded himself that no matter how bad his newer charge was feeling, his original charge would be feeling the same thing, but with much more self-loathing and guilt.  
  
With that Alfred started on a pile of dishes he had carefully prepared beforehand. He was now within easy speaking distance if necessary, but not obviously enough to make the lad feel imposed upon. If he'd learned one thing from his employer over the years, it was the value of preparation.  
  
Dick continued to eat, staring into space again. Alfred had given him a lot to think about, as always.   
  
Could he be right? Was there hope left? Wasn't that what being Robin was about, bringing hope to people who thought there was none left, even if he felt he didn't have any...   
  
Could it be that simple? He'd watched the sunset tonight, but he preferred sunrises by choice, the promise of a new day. Perhaps that was part of the difference between Batman and Robin, between Bruce and Dick; Bruce welcomed the night, Dick used it, but preferred the day. Could he adjust his thinking further, to accept that failure was not tolerable, but had to be expected.  
  
This was going to take some time to decide on, and he hoped that no one else would suffer while he was figuring it out. 


	26. Chapter 25

Chapter 25 - The City Park Hotel - 9.45 pm  
  
Gordon surveyed the crime scene with a heavy heart and the overly familiar taste of bile rising in his throat. The penthouse had already taken on the smell he always associated with murder scenes, a mixture of copper, wet fabric and slightly spoiled meat. It didn't matter how the person had died, the smell was always there, in the background. Or maybe it was just him, it wasn't something you brought up with your officers or colleagues, you tended to get odd looks.  
  
The victims mother had been escorted away by the paramedics, in a state of deep shock, after screaming her lungs out for half an hour. She'd been found by another waiter on the floor, drawn to the noise she was making by a complaint from a guest down the corridor (Who hadn't even bothered to come out and see what was going on). The waiter wasn't in much better condition himself, but had at least managed to get the alarm raised before becoming hysterical.  
  
The body had been covered with a sheet after the photos had been taken and it… he, Gordon corrected himself, _he_ was almost ready for the Coroner's team to take away. Gordon almost couldn't bring himself to look at the body, he knew he'd have to be looking at photos within a few hours, and this was another horror he didn't want to see. He'd seen too much in the past few days. But another voice inside him, the voice of a sergeant who'd taken him under wing years before (before anyone had ever thought that there needed to be a word like "mentoring"), chided him gently. "Just because you're in charge, it doesn't mean you get to make everything go your way."   
  
Gordon couldn't leave his team dealing with something he couldn't handle himself. He went over, lifted the sheet, and looked at the still form. He shook his head. Words failed him and he moved away.  
  
He noticed that the other officers around the room were, again, muted in their conversations, most took great pains to look at walls, floors, anything but the reason they were there.  
  
There were always notes up in the GCPD locker-rooms advising officers of recent escapees from Arkham or Blackgate, so they might be prepared for what they might have to deal with. There was a healthy trade in shifts sometimes, a Two-Face for two or three Riddler's (depending on how manic he was at the time), four Penguins for a Scarecrow (Penguin was ruthless and scheming, but at least he tended to stick to normal crimes most of the time), a Joker for three weeks of anything else. Highly improper of course, but Gordon was prepared to let it slide if it meant he had a full roster when he needed them. He wondered how much a Corinthian shift was going for, whatever it was he bet it was increasing by the hour.  
  
Bullock rolled into view. Gordon never ceased to wonder how Bullock, who generally had the appearance of a badly dressed pile of jello, could manage to pick his way through a crime scene in such a seemingly haphazard fashion without actually disturbing anything. It was fascinating to watch, like a car accident that never quite happened. Gordon was reminded of a documentary he'd seen on hippos; on land, hulking brutes, but in water, their natural element, strangely graceful. He wondered how the hell the words "graceful" and "Bullock" had ever occurred to him in conjunction, he clearly needed more sleep, which wasn't going to be coming anytime soon.  
  
"We got the details Commish. Kid worked here part time, waiter, kitchen, general gopher but wasn't supposed to be up on this floor tonight."  
  
"Was this a rape?" came a weary voice from the doorway.  
  
Agent Pulaski stood there, shadowed by Agent Smith. Neither looked pleased to be there, which was hardly a surprise.  
  
Hell of an entry line, Gordon thought, but he looked over at one of the Medical Examiner in askance, the ME nodded in reply.   
  
Pulaski shook her head, "Thought so, probably means he's been hunting."  
  
Gordon was curious despite himself, "'Hunt'? You mean like stalking? Does he do it often?"  
  
"Not often, but we've seen him do it. Not when he takes kids off the street, but if he's after someone who isn't on the game, he's been known to follow them around for a while. Comes back later and makes the kill, but he always rapes in those cases, wants to make it worth his while or something. A hotel like this is the perfect environment for that kind of thing."  
  
Smith spoke softly "We've had cases where he broke into the house of the victim, looked around their room whilst they slept. One time, my first time on this case, he even made himself a sandwich and fed the family dog, then just left. Came back two days later and… well, I will never that crime scene if I live to be a hundred. I thought I'd seen evil before, but…."  
  
Gordon shivered, not a sensation he was used to. There was something about the self-control required to do such an…. unsettling thing that worried him more than murderous rage. He'd seen both, and the former was always more disturbing than the latter, just interview the Joker a couple of times if you want to know the difference. He'd once had to spend over an hour listening to that chalk-faced ghoul explaining how he'd actually _kept_ someone from dying for four days, just for fun. He'd had more nightmares from that than he'd had from most of the Jokers killing sprees.  
  
"This time there's a twist, even for him I'll bet"  
  
"Astound me."  
  
"Well, I warned you. He made the kill, and some other things, in private, then called the boys mother, she works here in Housekeeping, to call her up to the room. When she got here, he was gone, but her son…"  
  
Pulaski blanched "Yes, that's a new one."  
  
"That's Gotham for you, it even brings out the best in our visitors. Yesterday he worked on quantity, today it's quality."  
  
"I just love this town of yours Gordon. Remind me never to retire here"  
  
"If you need reminding, you're qualified to stay. By the way, I meant to say, sorry about this morning and our discussion about our… absent friend"  
  
Pulaski made a dismissive gesture, "No problem, none of us were at our best. Plus, I've dealt with a couple of these types in my time. He's reputed to the be worst of them all."  
  
"And the best… in many ways", Gordon found himself almost reflexively defending the man he'd been shouting at mere hours before.  
  
Pulaski smiled slightly, "He gets results true… if one is prepared to be a little flexible about the letter of the law. Is there any chance of him paying a visit here this evening?"  
  
"I don't know, it's a distinct possibility though."  
  
"You never can tell" came a deep voice behind them.  
  
The FBI agents almost, but not quite, jumped. They turned around… to find Bullock standing behind them, a grin sprawled across his face. "Sorry, couldn't resist" he said in his own voice. He chuckled as he went back to his business, caught a couple of the other cops staring at him with open disgust and shrugged, but he quieted down.  
  
"You'll find that Detective Bullock is the master of inappropriate humour." Gordon stressed the "inappropriate" rather strongly.  
  
Agent Smith spoke in elegantly disapproving tones. "So I'd surmised. Bullock if you are Batman I, for one, would very much like to see you jump off a tall building."   
  
Bullock bristled and was clearly about to retort, as Gordon moved off to one side, with Pulaski following.  
  
"I think we should talk to the Hotel Manager, he may be able to shed some light on this while it's fresh."  
  
"And the mother?  
  
"She was taken away under sedation, between her, Ma Graves and the girls from the house last night, we're racking up the spaces in the Psych evaluation ward this week"  
  
"I had Smith interview the girls today, he's had experience in that area", Agent Pulaski said, "Luckily, they didn't see what the Corinthian did to their friends, he _just_ shut them up in a room and let them listen to what went on, which was more than bad enough. Your officers, who seem to have way to much experience with this sort of situation for my tastes by the way, made sure they never saw the bodies as they were found. We have secure accommodation for them sorted out thanks to some sort of scheme from one of the local benefactors, the Wayne Something-or-other. The girls should recover, eventually, but it'll be a long time before the nightmares fade. As for Graves, well, it'll be a long, long time before she's in her right mind again."  
  
"Not that she ever was…" Came a mutter from Bullocks approximate direction (He and Smith had shut up, clearly feeling this was neither the time nor place to argue loudly). Gordon wanted to agree but said nothing…   
  
He changed the subject. "Would you care to sit on the prelim with the Manager Agent Pulaski? There might be elements to the case I wouldn't think to ask about."  
  
"In this town, I doubt it, but sure I'll sit in."  
  
"Thanks…"  
  
"What's the rep on this hotel like?"  
  
Gordon shrugged, "As far as I know, pretty good, all things considered. I mean, all hotels have some sort of past if you look back far enough, and this is Gotham, chances are they've lost a guest or two over the years one way or the other. It's a downtown hotel, so I'm sure there are a few local pro's who know some of the desk staff by their first name, and doubtless had a couple of high profile scandals over the years, but nothing major that I've ever been aware of. Does that look like 'Samuels' or 'Samuelson' to you?" Bullock's handwriting was as awful as ever.  
  
Pulaski looked over at the scrawl on the pad "Actually, my first bet would be Simons actually, but if I had to choose between your choices, I'd say Samuels."  
  
They broke off conversation as they approached the office of the Hotel Manager, who _was_ a Mr Samuels. A short, pudgy, middle-aged man with, who one could imagine fussing around guests or ordering his staff around with an efficient air. Now he was pacing the floor of his rather cluttered office with nervous energy, and looked pale and stressed. An opened bottle sat on his desk and there was no sign of a glass.  
  
As soon as he saw Gordon his face changed, to a look Gordon had seen many times in the past, it was a look that said "I do not know who you are personally, but you are a Police Officer in a position of authority and I will therefore unload all my stress on to you."  
  
They shut the door behind them and sat down, waiting for Samuels to say something. He didn't disappoint.  
  
"Before we begin…" he floundered, searching for a name d  
  
"Commissioner Gordon… or Jim, if you prefer" filled in Gordon, gently. He had a feeling that the name "James" would be a sore spot at the moment.  
  
"Yes,.Jim… before we begin I should point out that Joyce… Mrs Calhoun is not just my Head Housekeeper, but my sister, and so James is.. was…"  
  
".your nephew, of course. We're so very sorry for your loss." Gordon made a note to talk to Bullock about missing that little piece of information off of his notes.. "I hasten to add that this is a purely informal discussion, Mr Samuels, we understand that you will have urgent matters to take care of, but I hope you appreciated we have things to do too. We need to get some facts straight as quickly as we can, whilst everyone's memory is fresh."  
  
Samuels nodded. "Of course."  
  
"Now firstly, how complete is your video surveillance in the hotel? Might there be any footage of the man who was in the penthouse."  
  
Samuels nodded again "We have cameras on the lobby and the main lifts, we've never had the need for more coverage than that. We have the usual petty thefts every few months, but nothing major."  
  
"We'd like to take a look at the tapes for the past couple of days."  
  
"Of course Jim, of course, anything you think you need to help you, take it. Talk to the Front Desk, anyone gives you trouble, send them to me."  
  
"Had James worked here long?"  
  
"He helped out now and again, just sometimes when we were short staffed, nothing that would interfere with his studies you understand, his mother wouldn't permit it. But since his father left he's wanted to help his mother out and it was the least I could do for family. He helped in the kitchen, some room service. No serving alcohol of course..."  
  
Gordon doubted that, but frankly didn't care. "And had he served the occupant of the Davis Suite?"  
  
"I don't know, it's not normally one of his duties, we usually leave the upper floors to the more experienced staff. But it's possible he might have run up at some point. I'm sure the Kitchen will be able to tell you one way or the other."  
  
"Mr Samuels, I'm sorry that I have to ask this question. It appears that before he was killed James was subjected to a serious sexual assault… were you aware of any history he might have had of engaging in that sort of behaviour? With guests or otherwise."  
  
Samuels looked as though he'd just been punched in the gut. He literally went grey, and his mouth worked silently in a combination of betrayal and outrage. This policeman had presented himself as an ally, and here he was asking dreadful questions  
  
He gathered what little dignity he felt he had to shout. "How dare you… How DARE you…? There's a grotesque murder in my hotel, my nephew is the innocent victim, my only other living relative is insane with grief and you ask me an abominable question like that? What kind of a man are you? Don't you have family?"  
  
Gordon kept his voice quiet and steady, "Yes I do Mr Samuels, and I value them over anything else in my life. As I said, I'm sorry, but these questions have to be asked… to ensure that this doesn't happen to another family, and that I don't need to ask these questions of anyone else."  
  
Samuels wasn't about to be mollified though, he stood up, the session was clearly over. Gordon couldn't blame him.  
  
"I will say this only once. James was not involved in anything of the sort that you suggested. If you wish to ask me any more questions _Commissioner_, my lawyer and I will make ourselves available. You'll see yourself out I hope."  
  
Gordon stood and offered his hand, which was ignored, "I'm sorry that you feel that way Mr Samuels". and he meant it. He turned and left the office.  
  
"That went well" Pulaski offered dryly.  
  
"Better than it might have done, this one didn't try to punch me."  
  
"That happen much here?"  
  
"Happens everywhere, as I'm sure you know"  
  
"I was thinking it might get more extreme in Gotham for some reason…"  
  
"At least we got his permission to take the video tapes. Sometimes they're a whole lot fussier about that"  
  
"Next stop?"  
  
"Back to the scene, show our faces for a few minutes to keep the troops resolve up and after that we have to come up with something to feed the media vultures."  
  
"I didn't see to many of them on the way up."  
  
"After last nights events, this probably won't make much of a splash, sad to say."  
  
"Might be easier on the family that way."  
  
"There's no such thing as making this easier."  
  
"…except by catching the scum who did it." The mantra of cops the world over.  
  
"Amen."  
  
The two walked back to the hotel room in silence. 


	27. Chapter 26

Batman emerged from the Car before the turbines had stopped whirring or it had even started rotating back to exit position on the turntable. His cloak billowed through the clearing smoke from the engine, a highly effective, if somewhat wasted, visual.  
  
Alfred was, to Batman's complete lack of surprise, waiting. Several questions sprang to mind, and he glanced over at the console of the computer, the test programs he'd left running would now have finished, but only one question mattered right now.  
  
"How is he?"   
  
At least he has his priorities right in some areas, thought Alfred. "He has slept sir. He awoke a couple of hours ago, spent some time in… private reflection and has eaten. He has also engaged in some, relatively speaking, minor acrobatics which I would not have recommended, but which he seems none the worse for, and we have spoken."  
  
"And other than physically?"  
  
"As I said, we have… spoken sir."  
  
"Ah yes, one of your infamous talks. I remember them well."  
  
"Indeed sir," Though there are differences, mused Alfred to himself, starting with the fact that Master Richard has been known to listen.  
  
"And? The outcome of your talk?"  
  
"Sir… Bruce. He has clearly seen things I count myself fortunate I can barely imagine, and shock is possibly playing a part in his reactions, but I believe he is coping with remarkable maturity. However I would estimate that, appearances to the contrary, he is still… sensitive at the moment, but with a little time, a lot of encouragement and some _tact_, from ALL concerned, I believe we will be able to get him through this."  
  
Batman nodded as he removed his cape, cowl, boots and gauntlets but, knowing he would be going out again, left the rest of his costume as it was. He donned a rather outdated floor-length smoking jacket, and a silk cravat, which simultaneously covered the remaining costume neatly, and would enhance his eccentric reputation in the unlikely event of an unexpected social call getting past Alfred's defences.  
  
Wayne Manor - 8.35pm  
  
Moments later, Bruce walked into what he still felt a little uncomfortable referring to as "The Family Room". It hadn't been called that between the night his parents had died, but Alfred had been very insistent on the point from the night Dick had first arrived in the Manor. "Sir, below the level of the wine cellar you may name things as you see fit, put large labels on them if you so wish, but from the original foundation up, _I_ designate the rooms, and this _will_ be the Family Room again." Bruce had known better than to argue the point.  
  
Dick appeared to be doing his homework, a number of books were open on the table in front of him but he seemed to be staring into space, tapping his pencil on the table more than focussing on writing with it.  
  
Bruce, on reflex, scanned the titles of the books. One was "All the Right Angles", a Junior High school geometry text, another was "Physics for Fun", still another was entitled "Basic Forensic Pathology".  
  
Part of him, the small voice at his core, asked what he was doing allowing a child to read such things, then another, darker voice asked what state this child would be in if he wasn't learning these things? Given his nature, would he even be alive? No response would satisfy both voices, so Bruce ignored both.  
  
He picked up the last book from the table: Leather-bound, it was an old volume, but still considered to be a standard text. He knew it by heart himself. He examined again the annotations in the margins, recognising his fathers immaculate printed handwriting, and saw his own somewhat less neat writing alongside it. He would swear that he could smell his father's old pipe tobacco on the leather, but knew that it had long since faded. He'd tried smoking a pipe a few times as Bruce Wayne, but found it dulled the sense of smell too much.  
  
"I thought I kept this book locked away in my study."  
  
"Well yes, if you want to call _that _ a lock" came the casual reply, Dick didn't even look up.  
  
Bruce found himself, unthinkably, having to hide a smile at that. How on earth could someone so young deal with what he'd seen, and still be able to lighten the mood for both of them? However he did it, Bruce was almost jealous. If he had been able to process what he had seen years ago the way Dick could, then… he would never have been able to become who and what he had had to become since then, but his life might have been... more pleasant. He dismissed the thought, if Dick Grayson grew up to become unlike Bruce Wayne in outlook, then he would count his time as a father... he corrected himself… legal guardian, well spent. In the meantime…  
  
"You know, if this whole crime-fighter thing doesn't work out, you could be a really good second storey man."  
  
Dick still kept reading, "Second storey? After all the training I've had, I'd be a fourteenth storey man or nothing."  
  
"How are you feeling?"  
  
Bruce could almost hear the mood shift gears. He'd asked THE question, the one that was almost never spoken in the house. He amended that thought, it was almost never spoken _by him_.  
  
There was a moment's silence "Alfred and I had a Talk." Bruce could hear the capital being pronounced. They finally looked at each other, briefly exchanging silent glances that contained much in the way of shared experience. "Yes, one of those."  
  
"Did it help?"  
  
"I think so, yes."  
  
Though Dick didn't look at him again, Bruce kept watching his wards eyes, trying to read the body language. "Good. And how do you feel after… last night?"  
  
There was a longer pause. "Awful, if I'm honest. I don't want to think about it, but I know I have to, because ignoring it won't make it go away. If I don't get my feelings under control, then the Corinthian will have won before we've even had a chance to stop him. I did my best and I have to hold on to that."  
  
This had the sound of someone who was trying to convince himself of something, but he didn't seem to be hiding anything.  
  
"That's right, you did. You have to go with what you believe. By the same token, you understand why you are not getting further involved in this case"  
  
Dick's head drooped a little, but he didn't immediately argue, which was simultaneously disturbing and a relief to Bruce. When Dick spoke is was almost a whisper.  
  
"He followed us didn't he? Last night? We're the reason he came to Ma Graves' house?"  
  
Bruce froze, the boy _was_ a lot more perceptive than he appreciated sometimes.  
  
"I don't know, he may have been tracking the children that worked there, as part of his hunting pattern.." Part of him wanted to lie, to spare his feelings completely, but he couldn't. "…but he might have been following us. I'm going to be checking up on the likelihood tonight."  
  
"So you're going back out?"   
  
"I have to. You're not ready to go out again as Robin though. Not tonight, probably not for a couple of nights, if Alfred has his way, and I'm inclined to let him. Just take it easy for a few days, sort things out for yourself. I'll handle with things until then."  
  
"But if you need any help, y'know…. In the background work… you'll ask me? Just Cave stuff, I still want to see this creep put away for what he did to… well, to all of them."  
  
"If I need backup, you'll be the first one I contact."  
  
"Who else do you have? The superhero community isn't exactly thick on the ground in Gotham."  
  
"It doesn't need to be, it has Batman and Robin."  
  
"Who could ask for anything more?"  
  
"Something like that."  
  
There was another silence, whilst Bruce tried to think of something encouraging to say. His mother had been so good at that, even Alfred seemed to be able to do it without trying. Why was it so hard for him? Something to leave his charge feeling better than when he had arrived, something simple.  
  
"Keep studying." No, not enough, too brusque, add something else… "Alfred would never forgive me if you fell behind in your schooling. Though I refuse to believe that your high school requires a working knowledge of pathology."   
  
Dick gave him that deadpan stare again "You clearly haven't been to a Gotham City High School in a while."  
  
"Stick to the geometry for the moment. For Alfred's sake"  
  
With that Bruce turned and left. Dick didn't comment on the fact that the book from the study was still in Bruce's hands. He could take a hint, and turned back to the relatively peaceful joys of parallelograms. 


	28. Chapter 27

Bruce retreated and Batman took over as his boots hit floor of the Batcave. He shrugged off the smoking jacket and without even looking he threw it behind him, where it landed neatly on the rather incongruous coat-stand which Alfred insisted be kept at the foot of the steps. He pulled the cloak around him and donned the cowl.  
  
He went to the computer console and checked the data from the comparison tests he'd been running. All were negative, as he had expected. There wasn't the slightest trace of fingerprints, hair follicle or any body fluid from the Corinthian from the scene of Brad's death. There was no doubt the Police had been thorough, but even with the Batcave's resources there was nothing, just like all the others.  
  
Clearly the forensic route was, for whatever reason, not going to be of any use in this case. It was time to pursue other avenues, a comment that Pulaski had made had struck a chord, tied in with a comment from Profile.   
  
He consulted a file on one of the computers side systems, and after a moment poring over the contents, dialled a number.  
  
"Hello?" came the somewhat startled answer after two rings.  
  
"Profile. It's me."  
  
"Who do yo… oh of course. Who else? I'd normally ask how you got this number, but under the circumstances… How's Robin?"  
  
Of all the questions Profile might have asked, this was one that even Batman hadn't been ready for.  
  
"Meaning?"  
  
"I hear things, it's what I do. Some things good, some things not so good…things like last night at Ma Graves. About your junior partner not doing so hot…" There was a pause… "Look, Rhonda told me to ask you, okay? So tell me okay, just to set her mind at rest. She likes him and It'll go no further than her, my word of.., well, honour isn't the right word, but you know what I mean."  
  
Batman paused, to give out any information might lead to all sorts of conclusions being drawn, but did he really have a choice here? He was about to ask Profile for something a lot bigger in return.  
  
"Tell Rhonda that Robin wasn't badly injured. The Corinthian didn't harm him, just the others."  
  
"Well, yes, we heard about that too obviously. Dreadful."   
  
"Worse than even you can imagine" thought Batman to himself, but, in no mood for further banter, changed the subject aloud "I need something from you Profile, it's directly involved with locating the Corinthian."  
  
Profile was instantly all business again. "I meant what I said. What do you need?"  
  
"Your surveillance material from downstairs, last night."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I want it all. All the videotapes, unedited."  
  
Profile, nobody's fool, immediately guessed what might be the issue here. "Oh my God, you think he was here last night don't you? That he followed the two of you and…"  
  
"I don't know yet, but it's an avenue I have to check out, for obvious reasons."  
  
"If you come across anything on the tape other than the Corinthian…"  
  
Batman sighed, even in a giving mood Profile worked the angles.  
  
"I really couldn't care less, unless it's a major felony."  
  
There was a pause, "Fair enough, it was a quiet night. Where do I leave them?"  
  
"In a plastic bag, on the roof, next to the air conditioning unit. I won't drop in."  
  
"That'd be… appreciated. You scare the clientele, and without the kid doing his floorshow…"  
  
"Profile…" Batman paused, he owed this to Profile if nothing else. "If he is on the tapes, the Corinthian has a reputation for dealing with those who have filmed him, and not pleasantly. You might want to shut up early tonight, and take precautions." Someone as innately paranoid as Profile would doubtless have impressive defences ready and waiting if the need arose. Possibly not enough to deal with the Corinthian, but it might be a start.   
  
There was a distinct pause at the other end of the line. "Thank you for the warning… I think."  
  
"I should add that this applies to your staff and the working clientele, especially those who were wearing the cameras. See they get home safely, or keep them all safe somewhere I don't care which, but one or the other, or else I will want to know why."  
  
With that he hung up and turned back to the monitors.  
  
He spent ten minutes poring through the results of his tests. Even the fishing line and hooks the Corinthian had used to suspend the bodies were the most generic brands available. They had been sold in over a hundred sports stores in Gotham alone for the past three years at least, and there was no reason to believe the Corinthian had shopped locally or recently. There was no dust or particulate traces beyond those that might be found in the rest of a house like Ma Graves.  
  
Any bone contact with a knife should leave microscopic metal fragments in the wound. There were none, and yet the physical evidence of the wounds, the scoring of the bone around the eye-sockets, were obviously those of a fairly wide bladed knife, a hunting model of some kind. The fact he usually killed whilst the victim was beneath him made estimating height difficult, knives didn't leave clear trajectories like bullets did and a lot depended on personal style. The height the bodies had been hung at suggested he was probably over 5 foot 11 but that was as much as could be concluded, and there were no footprints which might fit with the Corinthians general description anywhere.  
  
He had analysed the knots used, hoping they would give some clue as to the pathology of the killer. They seemed irritatingly generic, not indicative of a certain career or personality type at all. It was as if someone had consulted a book of knots at random and used whatever page the book opened at first as a guide. He'd even had the computer run the knots through some of the more common manuals, to see if there was a pattern to the pages. The best he had come up with was that the killer was probably ambidextrous and knew a lot about knots, which was hardly news.  
  
Batman massaged the bridge of his nose, a psychopathic sadist still loose, a rising bodycount of children, no forensic evidence, and no real idea as to the nature of the criminal beyond his modus operandi and a "description" that could have netted a dozen suspects within any half block in Gotham. He hoped Profile's tapes might show something.  
  
Moments later there was an insistent beeping from the computer, the Batsignal had been switched on. He automatically switched on the police scanner, the computer collating recent information into a series of statistical likelihoods, even without that, the name "City Park Hotel" came through in a babble of instructions to and from squad cars, as did the code for the Commissioner being en route. That could only mean one thing …  
  
Batman sighed as he shut down the computers and headed for the Car. He'd hoped to catch two hours sleep tonight, but he'd probably spend that long just avoiding the FBI agents who would doubtless be at the scene by now. He really didn't need more complications right now, but he couldn't overlook the chance to maybe find the elusive clue he needed. The only positive aspect that he could think of was that if he was going to have a bad night, he was going to make sure that any criminals he came across would share his feelings.  
  
As he strode, he was well aware of the two shadows at the top of the staircase, the two figures watching him leave, but he did not turn around nor acknowledge them being there. As the Batmobile roared out of the Cave, the taller of the two silently draped his arm across the shoulder of the smaller, and led him back to the better-lit halls of the Manor above.  
  
The City Park Hotel - 9.40 pm  
  
Batman hadn't expected to have to adopt another disguise so soon after the last time, but it was the only way to get inside without arousing comment and he was in no mood to deal with the FBI in any shape or form. He couldn't become a cop, too many people might comment on not knowing him, too much of a chain of command to refer to. He estimated there wouldn't be much in the way of Press presence, and those that were there would be the hard-nosed, gutter Press who got under cops skin a little too easily to be useful. It was even risky as a med tech, but they had more of a reason to be there, and tended to fade into the background to even experienced cops.  
  
And so there one extra member of the emergency medical team that evening, not quite hiding in plain sight, ready to help with anything that was required, even transferring the body to the bodybag when the time came, and they weren't exactly swamped with volunteers for that job. "Richard Ducard" got a few grateful nods in his direction for that, and he accepted them without further comment.  
  
He saw Smith and Bullock play out their little scene, and wondered how either would react to knowing how close Batman really was, but that would have been somewhat self-defeating. He contented himself with the opportunities for checking for evidence, without actually seeming to be doing anything other than "his" job.   
  
He was not in the room when Gordon and Pulaski conducted their interview, but no one paid much attention to a med-tech sorting through a box of assorted equipment in the middle of a corridor outside. There were enough hysterical people around that a few extra medics weren't going to arouse much suspicion, and chances are no one would recognise a directional microphone hidden inside the box anyway.  
  
Batman was itching to get hold of the card that it was likely the Corinthian had written, but the best he could manage was a brief glimpse of it inside the evidence baggie clutched in Bullocks fist, which ruled it out of bounds.  
  
He also knew he would need to see a copy of the front desk videos, but he could get those through Gordon, and he had videos that there was no way on Earth that Gordon could help him with, and that would have to do for the moment. 


	29. Chapter 28

The Corinthian stood on the Robinson Bridge, drinking in the sunrise. He stretched and felt muscles and tendons pop in close approximation, he assumed, to the real thing.  
  
He liked sunrises, it was when people woke up and thought about the nightmares of the night before, starting their day with a touch of repressed terror, or better yet, the nightmares that couldn't recall but would feel nagging at the back of their mind for the rest of the day. It was a good time to be… well, he not alive as such, but to exist, to be aware.  
  
"Red sky at night, Batman's delight. Red sky at morning, Robin's warning…." He murmured to himself.  
  
Early morning joggers smiled at the good-looking man with the winning smile, and he smiled right back at them, and they left feeling somehow, at a very basic level, disturbed, though they would not have been able to tell you why.  
  
He drove through the city streets before rush-hour, savouring the fresh air. A classic car always drew attention, but this one had the advantage of being, like himself, not quite real, and people are usually remarkably good at ignoring and forgetting that which they suspect isn't real.  
  
He parked his Chevy discretely in a municipal car park. Normally it would be more sensible to will it back into the Dreaming to await his summons again, but there were complications with that involving his long term plans. Just in case, though, he was able to reach into the Dreaming and swap the car for a slightly different model and colour.   
  
Luckily there were always a LOT of dreams about classic cars for him to pick from. He had a personal fondness for Chevy's though, as it turned out so did a bank manager with a mid-life-crisis in Iowa, who the Corinthian was sure wouldn't even notice the difference when he made the exchange, and the internal contents of the car were undisturbed, so the Corinthian was happy enough with that for the moment.  
  
He had decided it was time to give something back to the city, other than nightmares, headlines and a bodycount. Today was a day for him to perform in his role as dark muse for the Dreaming, a role he relished every inch of the way.   
  
So the Corinthian spent the morning walking the city, through crowded urban centres and sedate suburban areas alike: Anywhere his special sight showed him there might be someone who would be predisposed to his own way of thinking. Those who just needed a gentle push in the "right" direction, a word of advice from someone who had both been there and done that. Most cities offered three or four such people at most, but Gotham City yielded no less than fourteen distinct possibilities, and healthy possibilities at that, which did not surprise as it might have done only a few days earlier.  
  
He walked casually down quiet streets and into shops, sometimes he arrived at front doors, though more often at back doors, where the real business of any household takes place. He spoke a few words with whoever he was looking for, at most the briefest of conversations, then left again. No one who saw him particularly recalled him, he didn't want to be noticed.   
  
As the sun rose, he spoke to a balding, middle aged man raking his garden, and who was watching the papergirl cycle past with slightly too long a lingering glance. He discussed greenfly solutions, and the best time to mulch and the best time to prune roses, but planted a far more fruitful idea in his head.  
  
To a young woman, sitting in a coffee shop, watching the world go by and thinking about her string of unsuccessful relationship, he was a sympathetic ear, and a source of future inspiration.  
  
To a schoolteacher taking a quiet smoke at the back gate of a junior high at morning recess, he had an interesting discussion about school discipline, and how lax it was these days, and how it might be applied in new and interesting ways to the unruly.  
  
At lunchtime he sat down next to a bank clerk who was watching a pretty girl chatting with her Latino boyfriend and agreed how some things just weren't right, even these days, and offered a couple of ideas as to the best way to deal with it.  
  
Shortly afterwards, at a deli eight blocks over, he chatted briefly with the assistant who served him a quarter of surprisingly decent prosciutto ham. As he was handed his change he spoke seven words, which were enough to have the assistant, already burning with an inner anger at his wife's decision to have an abortion without consulting him, looking at the storeroom's preserving jars in a whole new light.  
  
There were others of course, and each required a different approach, but the Corinthian was a master at his craft. It really was a most enjoyable way for a tourist to spend some time he thought; wandering around, and seeing the little known corners and rarely visited locales, of human nature if nothing else.  
  
He was confident that he had picked his targets wisely as, if he was certain he had seen brief glimpses of his Creators twin siblings near some of his targets. The androgynous shape of Desire, glancing down from a mannequin, and the lumpen form of Despair, glimpsed in the reflection of a window. It would have been an unforgivable faux pas to acknowledge having seen them of course, _they_ would acknowledge _him_ of they felt inclined to do so, but he felt that they were offering some sort of benediction to his works.  
  
And with that happy thought in mind he prepared to visit a sight where he was sure would see another of his creators sisters… Arkham awaited. 


End file.
